Recalculating
by DragonQueenSori
Summary: This was why you shouldn't take directions from a GPS named Hitler. Or pick up hitchhikers. Or get involved in covert government anti-terrorist operations. USUK AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

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><p>[Chapter 1]<p>

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><p>"Turn right." said Hitler in its gender-neutral machine voice. Alfred did not turn right. Alfred did swear and slam the steering wheel with both hands. He wasn't sure why he kept listening to his GPS. Hitler had made it clear that the Third Reich was at hand. It was hell bent on global domination and Alfred might as well be Poland for all it cared. Which was why it had left him stranded in the middle of nowhere. Again.<p>

"Turn right." Hitler reiterated. Alfred groaned and dropped his head to rest on the steering wheel with his hands.

Alfred and Hitler's unusual and slightly abusive relationship had started several months back in the electronics section of EBay's seedier younger cousin. The website was best left nameless, but at the time Alfred had had no idea he was actually purchasing cut-price merchandise from Hell's online equivalent. He'd made the utterly foolish assumption that it was just another online auction. Had he known better, he would've screamed "Get thee behind me, Satan!" when Hitler had shown up in his search. Unfortunately, what he had screamed was "Score! TomTom. $27.95. Come to me, you sweet bastard!"

And then he'd clicked 'Purchase'.

There should have been some sort of warning. And if not about the devil spawn that was now on its way, then at least about the overpriced shipping. A fifteen dollar flat rate? Really?

All that happened was a notice informing him that his purchase should arrive in two to three business days. And lo and behold, two to three business days later a package arrived.

The date had been the twentieth of April.

Adolf Hitler's birthday.

It was a sign.

Alfred missed it like he missed road signs. Which is to say, he never even noticed. He sped by without a second thought.

Alfred was navigationally challenged. Hence the need for a TomTom. Hence the arrival of Hitler.

Hitler had been gently lifted from its packing peanut confinement with the respect and ceremony that Alfred normally reserved for family heirlooms and collector's edition video games. The instruction manual had been abandoned, Alfred preferring to muddle through the set-up process himself. He worked with computers for a living. He could manage a GPS.

On Hitler's first test run, it had insisted that every location Alfred could possibly want to visit was across the street. Alfred, sure that Mrs. Bennett's house was not Disney Land, took his purchase back inside and gave the set-up process another try.

Take two had led him to a seafood restaurant which served the best tuna he'd ever had. Only problem was he'd been trying to buy shoes. The instruction manual had been retrieved from the dilapidated pile of books and comics by his bed. It had nothing insightful to add.

The third try at set-up had wound up being the last. Hitler had locked itself into whatever bizarre settings it wanted and refused to be coaxed into anything else. Similarly, Alfred had wound up locked bumper to bumper with the woman from the taco shop, who'd demanded Alfred pay for what he'd done to her car.

Alfred had shelled out the money for damages and gone on his way, thinking that was the end of it.

But that was not the end of it. That was the start of a drawn out sequence of events that had led to the loss of his girlfriend, job, apartment, and dignity. Then, finally, he had been left on the shoulder of a highway while a gender-neutral machine voice mocked him, delicately crushing his few remaining hopes and dreams.

Forehead on the steering wheel, Alfred dug deep, looking for some shred of optimism that would get him through this latest crisis.

"Turn right." Hitler mocked.

Alfred brutally jabbed Hitler's on/off button and threw in a swear for good measure. Somehow, the thing managed to be smug even as it powered down.

This, Alfred decided, would call for drastic measures. He put his car in gear and started off towards his safe haven.

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><p>Alfred might not be able to navigate his way out of a cardboard box, but when placed behind a steering wheel he somehow gained the magical ability to locate the nearest McDonalds. It didn't matter where he'd managed to strand himself, eventually golden arches would appear on the horizon. He was like a goddamn homing pigeon. No, he was cooler than that. He was like a heat seeking missile.<p>

So, after half an hour that seemed to consist of nothing but left turns, Alfred found himself exactly where he wanted to be. Which, apparently, was the driver's seat of his car in a McDonalds parking lot with the lights off, the radio on, and a bag of Big Macs in his lap.

Big Macs made everything better.

Well, not everything. But most things.

For example, they couldn't change the fact that he was currently unemployed. But they helped get him pumped for his upcoming interview.

Alfred had chosen his career based on the assumption that there would always be work for those in the field of computer science. That assumption had paid off his student loans and then left him by the wayside.

His future was now dependent on an interview which would take place in (he glanced at the dashboard clock, it read 8:00 in bright green) roughly thirty-seven hours. Although, now that he was thinking about the interview, it came to his attention that there was a question that desperately needed answering.

Where the hell was he?

Hitler had never led him so far astray that he'd wound up in Canada or Mexico, so it was safe to assume that he was still in the States. What state was an entirely different question. Since asking Hitler would be an exercise in futility, Alfred scarfed down the last of the Big Macs and drove out of the McDonalds lot.

The nearest gas station was only a block away. Alfred pulled up, filled up, and wandered inside.

According to the available maps, he was on the Illinois side of Indiana. A map of each made it into his possession, later to be stuffed into the glove compartment. He also bought a slushy and some Hershey bars to chase down the Big Macs. The clerk gave him change and hotel options.

Hitler had pulled him off course, no surprise there. He could kiss stretch breaks goodbye if he wanted to keep his appointment. Tomorrow was going to be one never-ending desert of pavement. But at least there was still a chance he could make it, unlike previous misadventures.

Alfred made up a plan of action. Find a hotel. Sleep. Get up early. Drive. Drive. Drive some more.

First order of business was the hotel.

The safe thing to do would be to use the cheap gas station map to navigate to one of the suggested hotels. But reading in a moving vehicle would give him headaches. Not to mention that having the overhead light on would make it hard to see the road. Pulling over every so often to get his bearings would be annoying.

He worried his lip for a while before finally coming to a decision.

Alfred reached towards the on/off button of his GPS. He'd give Hitler another chance.

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><p>Hitler had lost contact with satellites, or the Internet, or magic ponies, or whatever it was that let it know where the roads were. Its display showed nothing but a loading screen. Every so often the screen would flicker and Hitler would say "Recalculating" in a promising sort of way, but nothing else happened.<p>

Alfred really needed to stop giving Hitler more chances.

It was part of his new plan for getting his life back in order. He'd cut ties with Hitler. He'd kick ass in his upcoming interview. He'd get a steady job. He'd get a new apartment. He'd fill his apartment with the belongings he'd left at his parents' after he got kicked out of his last apartment. He'd find someone, court them, and have a loving relationship. And come hell or high water, he'd live happily ever after.

Everything would be normal, and under control, and perfect.

It was a good plan. The fact that it had not worked the last four times did not make it any less of a good plan. There was nothing wrong with his plan. That it kept failing was due to some outside variable that Alfred hadn't managed to ascertain yet.

Personally, he liked to think it was karma.

The Universe was punishing him for some horrible action he'd performed, not that he had any idea what that was. So until he figured out his error and made an effort to fix it, he was stuck in an Infinite Loop of Great Failure.

Since this realization, Alfred had made it his mission to accumulate as much positive karma as possible, no matter how far out of the way he had to go to earn it. If he obtained enough of it, maybe he could dig his way out of the hole he was stuck in sans earth shattering revelation.

He was convinced that with enough good deeds The Universe would let him get back to business as usual.

Or at least let him lose Hitler. His personal hell would be so much more bearable without Hitler.

Please?

"Recalculating." said his tormentor.

Alfred wondered if throwing Hitler out the window doing sixty would be enough to kill it.

Probably not.

Coming to terms with the fact that the day of Hitler's destruction was not at hand, Alfred decided that now was as good a time as any for some jams. The classical station that had been leaking out of his speakers for the last ten miles or so wasn't doing it for him.

It was hard to find stations out here, but at least the radio was working. Unlike a certain GPS that would remain nameless.

Looking at you, Hitler.

How sad was it that twenty year old technology was being outperformed by, like, hundred year old technology?

Alfred switched out classical for classic rock. Rock was more his speed. Station quality was horrible though.

Fingers tapping to the static-y beat, Alfred kept his course. He had no idea where he was going, but he figured that sooner or later something would turn up and point him in the right direction. Road signs, or an off-ramp, or something.

It wound up being sooner rather than later.

It was also securely in the 'something' category.

In the movies, whenever things are happening in cars the radio plays songs that are eerily pertinent to the situation at hand. When the hitchhiker appeared, still a shadow in the distance, the radio was playing 'Electric Avenue', which was more or less completely unrelated to anything occurring at the time. Alfred wasn't even sure if the song was classic rock like the station advertised.

He slowed as Eddy Grant went into the chorus yet again. It was decision making time.

A childhood filled with late-night horror flicks had taught him that picking up hitchhikers was asking to be cut up into very small bits and left in the middle of a forest. A dalliance in culture studies during college had taught him that not everyone you picked up on the side of the road was automatically a psycho. Alfred was desperate enough for positive karma that he'd trust one semester of education over years of mass media brainwashing.

"I'd better get a fuck-ton of points for this, Universe." Alfred murmured to himself as he pulled over onto the shoulder.

His car rolled to a stop, road crunching under the wheels, and lit up the hitchhiker with streams of watery gold. He looked relatively young. Alfred only managed a brief glimpse of blonde hair and mussed clothing before the skinny figure began to move. The stranger scrambled through the headlights, flinging gravel as he went, and stopped outside of Alfred's passenger side door.

He slammed something against the widow. It looked vaguely like those IDs that agents flashed in crime dramas. Alfred had always wondered about those things. How did you know they were real? What if someone just got one of those black leather flippy things and inserted a knock-off badge and a fake photo ID? What were those black leather flippy things anyway? Where did you get them? And wouldn't the badge keep the flippy thing from closing properly?

But all of that was irrelevant, because the stranger's next action was to press a gun to the glass and make a muffled demand that Alfred open the door.

Well fuck.

"Recalculating." said Hitler.

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>Continue?<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**Addendum to the Warnings: The story now contains enough swears to warrant a warning for swearing.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

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><p>[Chapter 2]<p>

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><p>"Open the door." demanded the man with the gun.<p>

Alfred was sure this was the point when his life was supposed to start flashing before his eyes. All he got was a brief and hazy recollection of a cat he'd had in his youth. He was obviously doing this wrong. Or maybe you had to practice before you could get your life to reliably flash before your eyes. Although, if you had to put yourself in life threatening situations to practice, he couldn't see why anyone would-

The gun tapped against the glass, a reminder that this was neither the time nor place.

Alfred unlocked the doors and the stranger clambered in. In the surge of light, Alfred caught a glimpse of angry green eyes before the door slammed and everything went dark again.

"Drive."

"You need to buckle your seatbelt."

Alfred couldn't see the man's face, but he was pretty sure the expression would be incredulous. You didn't remind someone to buckle up when they were two-thirds of the way towards successfully hijacking you and your car.

He was going to get shot now, wasn't he?

Surprisingly, the man didn't shoot him. He buckled up.

"There. Now will you drive?"

Not willing to tempt fate, Alfred drove.

And drove.

And drove some more.

"Where are you going?" the stranger eventually asked.

Alfred gave a nervous laugh.

"Actually, I was waiting for you to tell me what to do. I just figured you hadn't because you were going to do that thing they do in the movies. You know, where you tell me to drive and then we sit in silence until you tell me to pull over. And then we get out, and you shoot me, and leave me on the side of the road, and drive off in my car. But now I'm thinking that maybe you just aren't so good at this. Not that I think you're incompetent! I'm sure you're a very capable person. You're probably just having an off day. I'm having an off day right now and- Oh god, I'm rambling. I should shut up now."

He did need to shut up. He also needed to stop gripping the steering wheel so hard. If it snapped in half, he'd be unable to steer, and then where would he be?

"Is there a hotel nearby?"

"No. Yes. Sort of. I don't know where exactly. We could ask for directions."

His passenger frowned.

"Why don't you just use that hunk of plastic sitting on your dashboard?"

"Can't do that."

"What?"

"I have a GPS, but you shouldn't use it. I'm not sure if it's possessed or what, but it's the physical embodiment of evil. It exists to destroy the free world, conquer all that stands before it, and build a new empire of fear and tyranny upon the ashes." Alfred explained.

After a moment he added "I call it Hitler."

There was a long pause filled only with the sound of the car engine.

"Of course." said the man "Of course I'd get picked up by a crazy one."

Alfred felt that this was a bit unfair. If he was crazy, then he was the type of crazy who had harmless arguments with inanimate objects. His passenger was the type of crazy who carried a gun and hijacked cars.

Which one of them would society be quicker to condemn?

"Do you have a map?" the man asked.

Alfred snapped out of his musings. "What?"

"A map. Do you have one?"

The man had an accent. Alfred hadn't noticed before. It was intriguing. Too bad he'd get shot if he asked. He assumed he'd get shot at any rate. The man didn't seem overly aggressive. Still, accents were put on his list of things to not talk about.

"Glove compartment." he replied instead.

His passenger turned on the overhead light. Damn. How had Alfred missed those eyebrows? They were practically eating the stranger's face.

"Um." Alfred was hesitant to interrupt as the other shifted through the assorted garbage that had collected in Alfred's car. Napkins, straw wrappers, MapQuest printouts, and Happy Meal toys cascaded down onto the floor.

"What? Does the Devil dwell in your glove compartment? Should I be worried about disturbing him?" He tossed a plastic dinosaur over his shoulder with an impressive amount of force. It hit the backseat with a thump. Alfred winced.

"No. At least, not as far as I know. It's just that it's hard to drive with the light on."

"And if I turn the light off, how am I supposed to read this?" he held up one of the maps Alfred had just purchased. It was already wrinkled and had acquired a mysterious purple stain in one corner.

"Um..."

"I thought as much." the man turned back to the paper folds "Take the next right."

Just to be contrary, Hitler chose this moment to start working again.

"Turn right." it echoed.

Alfred wished horrible things on both of them.

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><p>Twenty minutes of driving found them in front of 'Motel'. Not 'Mountain Pass Motel' or 'George Washington Motel' or 'Small Town Motel'. Just 'Motel'.<p>

Its appearance was just as bland and unassuming as its name.

Alfred pulled up, parked, and killed the engine.

"Give me your keys." commanded the stranger.

Alfred handed them over. The stranger pocketed them.

"Good. Now, we're going to go to the front desk. You're going to rent a room. You are not going to act distressed. You are not going to say anything out of the ordinary. Do you understand?"

Alfred nodded, not sure if he was allowed to speak.

"Then let's go. Remember, act normal."

It turned out the stranger needn't have worried. The woman behind the desk wouldn't have cared if Alfred was bleeding and on fire, much less distressed. She barely looked up from her magazine as Alfred requested a room.

Alfred handed over the money and ignored the watchful gaze screaming into his back. He was doing as he had been told. Besides, the stranger wouldn't shoot him when there was such an obvious witness. If said witness even cared. She probably wouldn't.

"Room six." The woman didn't bother to hand him the key, instead laying it on the counter.

"Have a nice stay." she tacked on unconvincingly.

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><p>The motel room was like motel rooms everywhere. There was a bed, a scattering of poor quality furniture, and a lamp. The carpet was marked with constellations of stains. Alfred was able to identify rabbits, Abraham Lincoln, the Eiffel Tower, and a weird mushroom before the stranger started talking.<p>

"Stay here. Don't touch anything. I'll be back."

He tossed his bag aside and vanished into the bathroom.

Alfred waited for the door to close, and then turned his attention to the bed, where the man had left his pack.

Motel beds were to be approached in the same manner in which one approaches a cluster of bushes in the jungle. You never knew what might be living in there. Alfred snatched the pack off the bed, quickly backed off to a safe distance, and began digging through it. His one hope was that the stranger had put his gun there. The odds weren't good.

There were some clothes, but the pack was filled mostly with papers. Some were stapled together. Some were bound with paperclips. Some were free floating. There was standard printer paper filled with neat type. Lined notebook paper crammed with slanted writing. Sticky notes with scribbles. Napkins covered in numbers and odd geometric shapes. Stained index cards with- Were those scone recipes?

And then there were photographs. The pictures were mainly of buildings, big and gray and nondescript. There were aerial shots of landscapes and snapshots of huge crowds. Alfred recognized none of the landmarks and kept flipping through until he reached the photo at the very bottom of the stack.

The photograph was of a man. He was smiling wide and bright and childlike. His violet eyes were shining, white-blonde hair falling into them. It was a nice picture, but not the type that you'd carry fondly in your wallet. It was impersonal, and if the man hadn't been smiling, Alfred might've thought it was a mug shot.

The bathroom doorknob turned. The stranger was coming back. Alfred dropped everything.

It was time for Plan A.

Plan A was to grab something and hit the stranger over the head with it.

He reached for the nearest item, the bedside lamp, and picked it up.

Or rather, he tried to pick up the lamp. It had been bolted to the bedside table. Probably to prevent theft. Or maybe to prevent someone from bashing it over the head of someone else, which was what Alfred had planned to do. But seeing as this had failed, Alfred gave up on the lamp and went with Plan B.

Plan B was to grab something else and hit the stranger over the head with it.

When the stranger stepped fully into the room, Alfred put Plan B into action and swung at him with all his might.

The sad thing wasn't that Alfred was trying to take down an armed man with a pillow.

The sad thing was that it worked.

His opponent went down with an "Oomph!" and a flailing motion. Alfred stood above him with the pillow raised for another strike. He hesitated, wondering if he should continue with the pummeling, and this cost him the upper hand. On the floor, the man contorted breakdance style and swept Alfred's legs out from under him.

Alfred hit the ground with an even louder "Oomph!", still clutching the pillow. A moment later, he was pinned to the floor with a knee in his back and his face smashed against one of the carpet stains. The weird mushroom shaped one.

Immediately, he started struggling. The stranger held him fast.

"Get off me! Get off me now, you son of a bitch!" Alfred screamed into the dirty carpeting.

"Stop it! I'm not going to hurt you!"

"If you want me to believe that, then get the hell off me!"

The stranger surprised Alfred again by doing exactly that. As soon as he was released, he scrambled back as far as he could.

"Who the fuck are you?" Alfred growled.

He hadn't been expecting a response, but he got one.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland. I am an agent in Her Majesty's Secret Service."

There were a multitude of ways Alfred could have responded. Under the circumstances, he felt he was valid in not choosing one of the more creative options. Instead, he went with a question.

"The hell is a British secret agent doing in Illinois?"

"We're in Indiana."

"Same fucking difference."

Arthur started to argue that no, no it wasn't, but Alfred was having none of it.

"Yes. Yes it is. You want to know why? Because if I was in Illinois right now, I'd still be as fucked as if I was in Indiana!" Alfred shouted.

"I have no job, I've just lost my chance at getting another one, and the odds that I'll get another chance beyond this one are decreasing by the minute! I have no house, I'm going to lose my car, and, so help me, if I wind up as a thirty year old living with my parents I really might just kill myself! My life was already cruising along the fast lane to Shitsville before you showed up! Then you showed up!"

By this point Alfred had hauled himself to his feet and was pacing the room indignantly.

"Now I'm being held captive by a foreigner with delusions of grandeur! If you're going to kill me, then just get it over with because I don't need your psychopathic bullshit!" Alfred finished and then slumped down onto the bed and its suspect sheets.

Arthur waited a moment and then cautiously sat down next to Alfred.

"Look, I realize this is where I'm supposed to appear sympathetic. But I have more important things to do than feign interest in your petty concerns."

Ignoring the still rather shell-shocked Alfred, he dug through his pack. It took several minutes of sorting to find what he wanted, no doubt due to Alfred's earlier meddling. Arthur withdrew from his disorganized belongings a single item and offered it to Alfred.

It was the photo of the violet-eyed man.

"This man's name is Tino Vainamoinen, and if you don't help me, then he is going to destroy _everything."_

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>Be honest. You thought the man in the photograph was Russia, didn't you?<strong>

**Also, let it be known that I love all of you. Your reaction to the previous chapter was overwhelming and completely unexpected. I will try to live up to your expectations, though I feel this chapter fails to do so.**

**Continue?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

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><p>[Chapter 3]<p>

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><p>Alfred was tired. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was even willing to sleep on the bed, though the odds said he'd be eaten alive if he did so. It was the type of tired that caused one to meander about with all the energy of a dead sloth, drooling slightly, and looking just about as vague as is physically possible. Essentially, his exhaustion had rendered him a zombie who still retained his higher brain functions.<p>

Which was actually fortunate, because the only other way Alfred would have gotten through his conversation with Arthur was with large quantities of alcohol or illegal substances.

"Woah, woah, woah. Wait. Hold on. Back up." Alfred shifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose "Go back to the part where you're a British secret agent again."

Arthur gave Alfred a look that was a few degrees short of loathing.

"We've been over this twice already."

They were both on the floor. The first explanation had taken place on the bed, but Alfred had begun complaining that something was eating his ass, so they'd switched. Neither was sure if the carpeting was a step up or a step down from the bedding.

Arthur was cross-legged, a pile of papers, photographs, and other 'evidence' piled in front of him. Alfred was stretched out on his back, position slightly contorted so as to avoid the carpet stains. Say whatever you want, he wasn't going to lie on the Abraham Lincoln stain.

It would be disrespectful.

And disgusting.

Alfred glared at him through now slightly lopsided glasses. "Then go over it a third time. I still don't know if you're crazy, I'm crazy, or the world's crazy."

The unspoken alternative was that everything actually made sense. Crazy was really the best option.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes. But give me the SparkNotes version this time. I can't remember all your precise facts and figures anyway. I'm also pretty sure your government doesn't want me knowing them. Top Secret, and all that."

The Brit sighed, recollected his materials, and began again.

"I am a member of Her Majesty's Secret Service."

It was sad that Arthur's whole explanation could fall apart on the first point. This whole explanation was dependent upon Arthur being who he said he was. Which was kind of hard to believe. Even if he did have a convenient backstory and that black flippy thing with the badge. Alfred just suspended his disbelief and let the maybe-crazy maybe-British man continue.

"I am in your country on a mission regarding the terrorist known as Tino Vainamoinen."

The photograph was placed down as evidence. Alfred nodded in recognition.

"The Swedish dude."

"Finnish." Arthur corrected. "He's Finnish."

"Ok, Finnish. You know next to nothing about his past, which is kinda lame. Just saying. He was born in Swe- Finland. He was born in Finland. Don't look at me like that. I'm totally paying attention. He's a mercenary. You don't know where he got his training, but he's good at what he does. You think that's sniping, but, just to reiterate, you know jack about his past. Mostly he does the whole 'soldier for hire' thing."

"Yes." Arthur furrowed his rather impressive eyebrows. "Or, at least, that's what he used to do. His recent actions have been troubling."

Arthur sorted through his stack of papers.

"Forgery." A piece of paper hit the floor.

"Firearms trafficking." Several pieces of paper were added to the pile.

"Abduction. Assault. Manslaughter. Offences against the Administration of Public Justice. Conspiracy. Robbery. Extortion. Theft."

More papers cascaded back down to the floor in time with Arthur's announcements. By the end there was a rather intimidating stack.

"That last one happens to be the reason I'm here. The stolen object in question is a piece of highly experimental government technology."

Alfred remembered this bit, and nodded along to the accusations.

"Right, someone stole your SATs."

Arthur gave a disappointed sigh and corrected him again.

"Not SATs, S.A.T.S. Satellite Assisted Targeting System. And that's the part they weren't able to steal. The actual piece of equipment taken was a supercomputer designed to break into the defensive networks of assorted countries. S.A.T.S. is a separate system, which enables enhanced satellite link-up and is encoded with the coordinates of key military positions throughout the Northern Hemisphere. And, judging from your blank expression, you have failed to understand the importance of this even when I use small words."

Alfred had the feeling insults to his intelligence were going to become commonplace.

"Shut up. I'm too tired to deal with this."

Alfred rubbed his face and looked at his wrist. His watch confirmed that it was, in fact, stupid o'clock in the morning. He readjusted himself on the floor, hoping it would keep him awake. Once again, he avoided the Lincoln stain and then shoved his feet into awkward positions to avoid a rabbit shaped smear.

"Just keep going. So then you used your spy skills to rescue the stupid satellite thing."

Arthur was impressed by neither his attention span nor his awkward squirming.

"Stop fidgeting. I'm not going to continue if you're going to act like an Attention Deficit kindergartener."

Alfred pointed down to the blotchy shape between his sock clad feet "I just don't want to put my feet in the rabbit stain, alright? Is that so much to ask?"

"Rabbit-" Arthur looked down at Alfred's hole filled footwear "It's a unicorn."

"What are you smoking? It's a rabbit. Look at it. It's so totally a rabbit. Where are you getting unicorn from?"

"Really? Are you really going to do this?"

"Yes, because I'm a - what did you call me? - an Attention Deficit kindergartener."

To complete the image, Alfred squirmed unnecessarily, folded his arms over his chest, and stuck his tongue out at Arthur.

Arthur threw a shoe at him. One of Alfred's shoes, actually. And now his head hurt because a mentally deranged pseudo-spy had thrown one of his own sneakers in his face.

Lovely.

"Ow! Fine! I'll stop. Can we please get back on topic?"

"Not if you don't pay attention!" Arthur snapped.

"I'm listening! Bad guys! Thieving! Spy skills! Explanation! Go!"

"Alright. As you were so keen to point out earlier, although Tino and his associates were successful in their acquisition of the supercomputer, they were unable to steal S.A.T.S. This was due, in no small part, to my own timely intervention. I was able to hide the device with the help of one of my contacts. Not even I know where S.A.T.S. is right now. Unfortunately, Tino doesn't believe me."

Arthur dropped three stapled packets down onto the carpeting.

"I followed him into your country in the hopes of recovering the supercomputer. This was an admittedly foolish decision. Believing that I have access to the hardware he was unsuccessful in obtaining, Tino has sent men to collect me so that I can be 'questioned'. Thankfully, I have been able to elude them thus far. When you picked me up, I had actually just escaped an entanglement with them. I was able to jam their tracking devices, so it should be some time before they pick up on my trail again. But, as you might have guessed by now, I am on my own here. Tino is slowly forcing me back into a corner."

"And you can't call for help due to 'complications'." Alfred added.

No matter how many times Alfred had asked, Arthur had refused to elaborate on what those complications might have been. It was kind of sketchy that a spy wouldn't have backup, but then again maybe all those action flicks really were onto something. Tom Cruise had been fine in 'Mission Impossible', maybe Arthur would be too.

"You're in some real trouble." There was no real reason to state the obvious, but Alfred felt somehow compelled to.

He began counting off the reasons on his fingers.

"You have no backup. You can only call your contacts sporadically because Tino might be tracing your calls. If you are injured in any way, that's the end of it. 'Game Over' man. You have next to no supplies. You're running low on ammo. You have no way of getting more of either. Essentially, you're up shit creek without a paddle."

He frowned at his unwanted companion.

"You don't even have a car because you lack the funds and the necessary licenses. You could just steal one, but that risks bringing the cops into this, which would just be a hassle you can't afford to deal with."

Alfred contemplated for a moment and then came to his own conclusion about Arthur's situation.

"Dude, sucks to be you."

Arthur at least had the decency to look remorseful.

"Yes. Well, actually, that's where you come in."

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Exposition. Exposition. Exposition.<strong>

**No idea if any of this technology actually exists.  
><strong>

**Continue?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 4]<p>

* * *

><p>So a secret agent, an out of work programmer, and the Anti-Christ in GPS format went screaming down the back roads in a beat-up old car.<p>

The agent turned to the programmer and said "Do you have any idea where you're going?"

Alfred didn't say anything. If this was the joke that it looked like, Alfred would be leading into the punch line. But he had no idea what the punch line was. Probably because there was no punch line. This wasn't a joke, no matter how much Alfred wanted it to be.

And Alfred really, really wanted someone to send in the damned clowns.

It'd been three days. He'd like it if the crazy stopped now.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"It's not like I can listen to anything else." The radio had been out for the last six miles, and showed no signs of coming back anytime soon. Not that Alfred blamed it. He didn't want to be here either.

"Then, if you can hear me, why aren't you answering?"

At the moment, he wasn't responding because he was testing out the theory that if he pretended hard enough, maybe Arthur would go away. Little kids did it all the time with blankets and boogiemen. Hide under the blanket and pretend the monster's not there and, lo and behold, the monster goes away. Alfred might not have had a blanket, but Arthur was definitely shaping up to be one hell of a boogieman.

"We're lost, aren't we?" Arthur pressed.

Damn it, the Brit was still there. Maybe the blanket approach really did need a blanket. But then he wouldn't be able to drive. Why couldn't Arthur just disappear?

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Alfred wasn't whining. Nope, totally wasn't whining.

"Ask for directions." Arthur suggested, breaking man code in doing so. Men don't pull over and ask for directions. It simply wasn't done. Surely Arthur should know this by now.

"And who the hell am I supposed to ask for directions?" Alfred asked in response to Arthur's frankly ridiculous advice.

Right on cue, Hitler began to act up again.

"You will arrive at your destination in two point five three zero zero zero zero zero zero zero zero zero zero-"

"Your bloody machine's on the fritz again." Arthur's tone was accusatory, as if Alfred somehow had control over Hitler's actions. Which he didn't.

"It's fine, just evil."

The sooner Arthur accepted this fact, the better. Maybe then he could call some super-secret organization or another so they could send an exorcist to expel the demon from Alfred's TomTom. Or maybe Arthur could call ninjas. Ninjas might work.

"It's an inanimate object." Arthur argued.

"An _evil_ inanimate object." Alfred argued back.

"Zero zero zero-" Hitler droned.

It should be noted that both Alfred and Arthur had the capacity to be charming and considerate people. Just not when they were stuck in a car together. Then they became insufferable clusters of stress spewing forth rage and generally obnoxious behavior.

"I don't care if it's the Dalai Lama." Arthur snapped "I'm not going to listen to it blather on for who knows how long. Turn it off, or fix the stupid radio, or- or- Something! I can't take much more of it."

Arthur looked fit to shoot something. Hitler had that effect on people.

Alfred considered his options.

"Ninety-nine bottles of-"

"You sing that bloody song, and I'll shank you with the broken ends of all ninety-nine fucking bottles." came Arthur's almost immediate threat.

"The bottles don't actually exist, dude. They're, like, a metaphor or something."

Arthur actually looked pained at this point.

"How are you even literate? You lack an understanding of even the basic mechanics of English. The evidence suggests that that you should be incapable of speech, little more than a blithering, incomprehensible, unevolved primate."

"Wh-Huh?" was Alfred's intelligent response.

"My point exactly."

"Are you calling me a monkey?"

Never let it be said that Alfred wasn't quick on the uptake.

"No, I'm calling you American. Same thing really."

"Hey! We're intelligent!"

That pompous, foreign- How dare he! This was America! Oh, he'd better take that back.

"I'll believe that on the day that you learn what a metaphor is."

Diss a man all you wanted, but leave his country out of it. This was another one of those man rules that Arthur apparently didn't know. You didn't insult a man's country, you didn't insult a man's woman, and you certainly didn't insult his mother. Depending on where you were, you also might not want to insult his dog, his car, his choice in beer, his hat, his musical instrument, his gun, or his favorite song. All of these were grounds for retribution.

Usually in the form of a right hook. A mean right hook.

Alfred couldn't punch Arthur right now, what with the driving and Arthur being a secret agent and libel to kick his ass. But there was something he could do. Something that would probably get Arthur just as riled up as a punch to the face. If not more so.

Arthur realized what Alfred was about to do seconds before he started doing it.

"Don't you dare." Arthur warned.

Alfred's eyes narrowed in challenge behind his glasses. Too late British dude, it was _on_.

On like fucking Donkey Kong.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall." he began.

"Alfred-"

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer." Alfred raised his voice.

"_Alfred_-"

"You take one down." he sang even louder.

"Git, do you have any idea who you're messing with?" Arthur's eyebrows twitched, glare going from 'stun' to 'kill'.

"YOU PASS IT AROUND!" Alfred all but screamed.

"I WILL END YOU!" roared the Brit, grasping across the gap between their seats to claw at his unfortunate companion.

"NINETY-EIGHT BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE- Arrgh! Get off me you- Fuck! Stop! Arrgh! That hurts damn it!"

"It bloody well better!"

"Zero zero miles." finished Hitler.

* * *

><p>After some swerving and an embarrassing slap fight, it was decided that a rest stop was needed. They could both use some time away from each other. At the first opportunity that presented itself, they would rejoin society and pretend to be normal and unassuming.<p>

The slap fight was, of course, never to be mentioned to anyone.

Also, by mutual consent, hair pulling was added to the list of 'Un-Gentlemanly and Un-Heroic Activates'. The list was quite long considering they'd only known each other for three days.

It was pathetic that after only three days such a list had become necessary.

Alfred found a town that was more rest stop than town, and got out of the car as fast as he could. His knees popped in bliss. Oh yeah, he'd totally needed a stretch break. He brought his hands over his head, listening to his shoulders and spine crackle with relief. That was the stuff.

The post-stretching bliss lasted until the moment he realized Arthur had ditched him without so much as a word of warning.

This could be a problem. Arthur had his keys. He took them any time they stopped to make sure Alfred wouldn't drive off without him. Alfred could make do without Arthur, but he needed his car.

Fortunately, Alfred found his secret agent a few minutes later. But only after wandering past the same storefront several times. The store owner was probably ready to call the cops.

Arthur was around the side of a nearby Seven-Eleven. He had located a payphone. An impressive feat in and of itself. If the World Wildlife Federation were to accept the payphone into their roster of species, it would be listed as 'critically endangered'. And Arthur kept finding them.

Alfred didn't know if it was some skill of Arthur's or if Illinois just possessed a plethora of payphones.

If it was the latter, they might consider changing their license plates from 'Illinois: Land of Lincoln' to 'Illinois: Land of Payphones'.

Upon locating one, Arthur would immediately sequester himself away between the laughable barricades meant to keep away eavesdroppers. He would spend his time talking in hushed tones to whoever was on the other end of the line, scribbling notes on pads of paper. Alfred would be told, in no uncertain terms, to go the hell away.

Which was fine by Alfred, except for the fact that Arthur had made off with all his spare change.

So much for catching a quick game of Tekken on the console outside the Seven-Eleven. He missed video games. Tetris quickies on his phone weren't cutting it. If he didn't catch a break soon he was going to go into withdrawal.

He resolved to comfort himself with beef jerky and Mountain Dew. And maybe some Chex Mix. Or maybe-

Alfred had this problem. Gas stations and convenience stores were so filled with junk food that he often went into overload at the mere thought of them. There was so much stuff to choose from, and only a set amount of cash to shell out.

What would he do? What would he buy? Fanta? Milky Ways? Pork rinds? Mixed nuts? Cheetos? Root beer? Klondike bars? Gum? Twinkies? Fritos? Cookies? Coke products?

So many choices.

The best way to temporarily incapacitate the American was to give him five dollars and shove him into a convenience store.

In fact, Alfred had been staring uninterrupted at a Doritos display for a good ten minutes before anyone bothered to snap him out of it.

"Um. Excuse me?" someone behind him asked.

"Yeah? What can I-"

Alfred stopped mid-turn and mid-sentence.

"Ah! Moi-moi, Mr. Jones." said Tino Vainamoinen "I thought it was you. If I could borrow a bit of your time, I think we need to talk."

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>You all seem to have a fever, and the only prescription is more Hitler.<strong>

**You know, the GPS Hitler. Not the real Hitler.  
><strong>

**Continue?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 5]<p>

* * *

><p>Tino was short. He was short, and kind of pudgy, and quick to smile, and easily flustered, and blushed a lot. He tripped over curbs, and stumbled over his words, and charged headfirst into awkward conversations.<p>

Tino was what some might call 'adorkable'.

Alfred was terrified of this man.

This man who had ensnared him with little more than a tilt of the head. This man who had forced him out of the Seven Eleven with a giggle and a wave at the cashier. This man who had done nothing violent, who had done nothing threatening, who had done nothing more than introduce himself. This man who had gently grabbed Alfred's arm and led him down the road, chattering happily all the while.

Arthur needed a gun to obtain docile behavior from Alfred.

Tino had managed it with a curve of his lips.

Alfred walked. It felt remarkably similar to being marched at gunpoint. He found himself wishing Tino actually had a gun, so that he could rationalize being afraid of a man who was a head shorter and several pounds lighter than he was.

How the hell did he keep finding himself in these situations? Maybe it was his destiny to be ordered around by shorter men, and he'd just managed to avoid it so far. That would make sense. It was a really sucky destiny though. This was all The Universe's fault, wasn't it?

Fuck you, Universe. Fuck you.

And you know what? Those monks who hang out with you all the time chanting 'Om' don't even like you. They don't want to be one with you. They talk smack behind your back. They think you're fat. And ugly!

And another thing-

Alfred kept up his stream of swears at The Universe until Tino led them to the intended destination.

Subway.

Why couldn't he ever be captured by normal psychopaths?

* * *

><p>Tino bought him lunch.<p>

No threats. No secret backrooms full of torture devices. No lurking henchmen. No ominous black car.

Just lunch.

Tino ordered Alfred's favorite, done exactly the way he liked. And Tino did it like he was a close friend rather than a stranger who had no business knowing how Alfred liked his sandwiches.

Alfred blankly observed the woman behind the counter as she put his sandwich together. He felt violated. Meal preferences weren't exactly intimate, but still. If Tino knew this, there was no telling what else he might know.

Alfred's shoe size. Alfred's favorite color. The details of Alfred's medical records. If Tino had access to them, then he would know about Alfred's frequent fevers in his youth, and about his losing battle against acne in high school, and how the thin scar on the inside of his right knee was from when he'd nearly impaled it on a fence in a failed attempt at flight.

Alfred shuddered.

"Are you alright, Mr. Jones?"

A terse nod was the response. Tino gave a little sigh.

"Mr. Jones, please, there's no need for this. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"Somehow, I don't believe you." No eye contact had been made in their conversation so far. Alfred avoided Tino's searching eyes by staring forcefully at the colorful depictions of food across the back wall. The cashier was unnerved, and one hand had strayed under the counter. Probably towards an emergency button or a bat. Tino lured their hands back out by having them make change.

"Come along, Mr. Jones." Tino handed him his sandwich and sauntered towards the door.

Alfred was led outside again. His captor settled on a nearby bench and made himself comfortable. Alfred stood stiffly, plastic bag crumpled in his hand, and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

Tino patted the space next to him in invitation.

"Sit."

"I'd rather stand."

Tino gave a shrug that obviously meant 'suit yourself' and started on his lunch.

"What exactly has Mr. Kirkland told you about me?"

"He told me you're a murderer. He told me you're a terrorist. He told me you're the type of person I don't feel comfortable eating lunch with."

"Hmm..." Tino seemed nonplussed at being called such things "And what did Mr. Kirkland tell you about himself?"

"He's a good person. He's an agent. And he's going to stop you." Alfred replied with a surprising amount of conviction.

"Oh? All by himself?"

"Yes." Arthur might be small, but he was a determined little spitfire. Alfred had complete confidence in the Brit when it came to getting things done.

Tino hummed and flicked away a limp bit of lettuce.

"A bit strange, don't you think, that one man would be responsible for such an important job. Surely, for such an important task, they would be able to send a team. You would expect at least technical support even if there were no other personnel to spare."

"He said there were... complications." Alfred admitted uneasily.

Tino gave a wry smile. "Yes, well, being convicted of high treason will certainly cause... complications."

Shocked, Alfred finally met Tino's gaze. There was no lie in those eyes. Just soft truth.

"Treason?" the word left in a rush with all the air in his lungs. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

Tino chewed, swallowed, and replied in kind. "Treason."

"He...ah, didn't mention that."

"No. I can't imagine he would."

"You- You're making this up."

There was sympathy in that violet gaze.

"I'm sorry Mr. Jones."

"No. Arthur told me-" Tino cut him off before he could get too far.

"Well, since Arthur's told you all about himself, I assume you know who this is."

He pulled out an iPhone. Latest gen. Alfred might've been jealous if the situation had been different. Instead he focused his attention to the picture now on high definition display. It was a man. Blonde, longish hair, scraggly beard, blue eyes, reasonably attractive.

Alfred had no idea who he was. Tino knew this and elaborated.

"This is Francis Bonnefoy. He was born in France, but later acquired citizenship in the UK. He is Arthur's partner. Or, at least, he was until Arthur lured him into a building rigged with Semtex and dropped the roof on him."

He flicked his thumb over the touchscreen and the picture changed. It was a hospital bed with a white lumpy shape resting in it. Whoever they were, they were in bad shape if the amount of tubes and machines they were hooked up to was any indication.

"He's in a coma. Odds of recovery are slim."

Tino's eyes met Alfred's once more.

"He tried to kill his partner, Mr. Jones."

"Arthur wouldn't-"

But who was he to say what Arthur would and would not do. They'd only known each other three days.

"Mr. Jones, he's not the man you think he is. He's a rouge agent. He's done a lot of bad things, and he knows we're closing in on him. He's desperate. He's using you, Mr. Jones."

Well, yes. But for the greater good. Right?

Tino flicked his thumb again and the picture changed.

"Did he mention this man? I can't imagine he would. Allow me to introduce you. This is Berwald Oxenstierna."

Another blonde. Short hair, blue eyes, glasses, scary looking. Alfred was less than impressed.

"What, did Arthur drop a building on him too?"

Something raw flashed across Tino's face. He struggled to keep himself composed.

"No. Mr. Kirkland shot him. He-" Tino struggled and finally managed to croak out "He didn't make it."

Alfred felt incredibly awkward. "Were you friends?"

"We were close. We were... partners. I-" Tino's voice broke. "I'm sorry. I need a moment. Excuse me."

Tino closed his eyes and drew in several shuddering breaths before he was able to continue.

"Berwald worked for INTERPOL. Berwald noticed things, little things, things no one else did. He connected all the dots and then decided to go after Arthur himself. Stupid idiot." The last part was uttered with fond bitterness.

Tino had probably forgotten Alfred was there for a moment.

"And then..." Tino made a vague gesture that was interpreted by Alfred as 'he went and got himself gunned down by Arthur'.

"I couldn't- couldn't leave things the way they were. So I took up the chase. Of course, it wasn't easy. If Mr. Kirkland doesn't want to be found, then it is remarkably hard to find him."

Tino's face soured.

"I had almost lost hope. But then there was a scrap with some of my men about three days ago. I followed what evidence there was, and that led me to you, Mr. Jones."

Alfred was immediately suspicious.

"So, what? Now you want me to be your lackey? Are you asking me to help you catch Arthur?"

Tino shook his head.

"All I'm asking is that you be careful Mr. Jones. Get away if you can."

Tino stood up and carelessly tossed his wrappers away.

"Arthur will have noticed you're gone. He'll come looking for you soon. For obvious reasons, I can't be here when he does."

He turned to face Alfred.

"I don't have much time, but please take this before I go."

Tino gave him a slip of paper.

"I have people stationed at this address. If you can make it there, they'll help you."

There was indeed an address written on it in black loopy letters. Alfred tucked it into his back pocket, which earned him a reassuring smile from Tino.

"Don't worry, Mr. Jones. You'll be fine." With a wave, the Finn was gone.

Alfred stood silently for a long moment and then carefully tipped his untouched meal into the nearest garbage can.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Sweden's dead.<strong>

**France is in a coma.**

**Apologies to their respective fangirls/fanboys.**

**Apologies also for the roughness of the chapter. I didn't have as much time to edit as I would've liked.**

**Continue?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 6]<p>

* * *

><p>When he was in kindergarten, Alfred's school had decided to try and instill an interest in the arts in their young students.<p>

How?

By putting on a play.

The play chosen was 'The Wizard of Oz'. Alfred had been cast as the Scarecrow. And while he might not have given the most on key performance of 'If I Only had a Brain' his school had ever seen, he had certainly given the most enthusiastic. Afterwards, his parents had greeted him backstage with a bouquet of flowers, which he had thought icky, and a Super-Sized portion of still warm McDonalds fries, which Alfred had very much appreciated.

That was the extent of his acting career.

Not exactly helpful, considering he was about to attempt BS-ing his way past someone who had probably spent years of their life studying how to read body language and spot abnormalities in speech patterns. Arthur could probably smell a lie from a mile away. It didn't bode well for Alfred's nonexistent acting and lying abilities.

If this were a video game, now would be the point where he would meander away from the main quest in favor of leveling his speech skill.

Unfortunately, his current situation allowed for no side quests.

Which sucked, cause Alfred knew for sure that he was way under leveled.

He trudged back to his car, wondering what he was supposed to do.

How does one even get accused of high treason in this day and age? What constitutes high treason?

Cause, you know, at one point in English history being a Catholic priest was considered treason.

Not that he thought that Arthur was a Catholic priest. But you had to do something before people were willing to accuse you of high treason. The real question was what.

What had Arthur done?

Tino had failed to mention the details of whatever damning action Arthur had chosen to perform. It was now entirely up to Alfred's imagination to speculate on what had happened.

Maybe he'd done something to the Queen.

No. If he'd hurt the Queen, Arthur would already have been murdered by the British populace. That, and Alfred would probably have seen something in the news if the Queen had been injured.

Perhaps he had tried to assassinate a person of interest in order to pave the way for a new world order.

Like a Terminator. A British Terminator.

Oh God.

What if Arthur was a Terminator?

Can you lie to Terminators?

Alfred was pretty sure they could scan your vitals and stuff with their robot vision. That would mean they had built in lie detectors. They'd watch for an elevated heart rate and then crush you like a soda can with their cybernetic arms.

He was so screwed.

He went back anyway. Might as well face the music.

Arthur was done with his phone call and was leaning against the car tapping his foot in annoyance. The look he gave Alfred was absolutely ferocious.

"How long does it take you to buy your stupid Twinkies?" he growled.

Alfred was struck with the sudden urge to run, which was ridiculous. Terminators would chase you no matter where you went. His only option, stand and fight, was no option at all.

Why were their no conveniently placed hydraulic crushers or vats of molten steel?

Arthur threw Alfred's car keys at the American's immobile form. They glanced off his forehead and skittered across the concrete. Alfred scuttled after them with one hand clutching his aching head. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Get in the car, idiot."

Alfred didn't need to be told twice. He was buckled in his seat with the keys in the ignition before Arthur had managed to close his door.

Ok, Alfred. Just act calm. Don't freak out. You can do this.

Be normal.

"Didn't you buy snacks?"

Alfred just about jumped out of his skin.

"What?"

"You aren't carrying any food. Didn't you buy snacks?"

"I DID!" Alfred shouted, then cleared his throat and tried again using his 'inside voice'.

"I did." he said "But they looked so good that I had to eat them right away. That's why I was late. Hehehe..." he trailed off in laughter that was two steps away from hysterical.

Arthur stared at him long and hard and finally turned away murmuring something derogatory under his breath.

Well, that was easier than expected.

* * *

><p>Either Alfred had seriously overestimated Arthur's lie detecting abilities or someone owed him an Oscar, cause damn.<p>

It had been two days. Arthur hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. He was even in a good mood. Alfred wished he could take credit for this, but Arthur's cheer was more likely because of his mysterious phone calls and a working radio than Alfred's attempts to appear calm, collected, and comfortable in the presence of someone who may or may not be a British Terminator.

It was raining. It was raining quite hard. Harder than the day before and certainly harder than the day before that. Although, that last fact was a given because two days ago it hadn't been raining.

The rain seemed to have some sort of soothing effect on his companion. He was unusually quiet and spent his time watching raindrops.

The only fight they'd had since the rain started was where to eat dinner. Arthur had pitched a fit and refused to go to another drive through. He demanded they go somewhere that possessed eating utensils that weren't made of plastic.

Alfred had agreed, knowing not to stomp on a hornet's nest when he saw one. Unfortunately, Alfred's navigational skills only extended to finding McDonalds and the less said about Hitler the better.

Arthur was entrusted with a map and successfully guided them to a nearby diner.

Alfred's GPS was as helpful as usual. It babbled on in what was either garbled Spanish or a demonic dialect unknown to mankind.

As much as Alfred would like to add more evidence to the whole 'Hitler is the devil' theory, he'd actually read Hitler's manual. Multiple times and in great detail. Hitler did indeed have a Spanish feature. It was just abusing the language in the hope that the two unfortunate souls stuck in the car with it would be driven to madness.

Alfred had long since become immune to such tactics.

Arthur kept sane by periodically smacking the machine. This worked well enough right up to the point where they pulled into the diner's lot. Then Hitler started screaming.

Hitler let out an inhuman 'AH' noise that would have dragged on long into the night if Arthur hadn't wrenched it off the dashboard and chucked it out the window.

Hitler slid across four lanes of heavy traffic before coming to a stop under the relative shelter of a mailbox. It looked as though any damage it may have sustained would be minimal.

Alfred despaired over Hitler's continued existence.

Arthur looked similarly disappointed with the lack of smashed electronics.

"Dude, how did it even- There were like three SUVs out there. And an eighteen wheeler."

"According to you 'because it is an agent of darkness whose mission is to bring an end to this age of reason'."

"So you believe me when I say it's evil?"

"No."

Alfred wilted. "Oh..."

"Just park the car. I'll go get us a table." Arthur left, slamming the passenger side door shut with just a tad more force than was necessary.

Alfred sighed and followed, but only after braving the rain and four lanes of traffic to get Hitler back. By the time he'd made it inside, he'd almost caused two accidents. He was also deeply impressed with Frogger's ability to avoid perishing on the asphalt and sending some poor soul to prison for charges of vehicular manslaughter.

That amphibian had made it look so easy.

The diner's interior was a horrifying mix of chrome, fake red leather, and checkerboard floors. A waitress with a beehive hairdo and a cheap pink uniform chewed gum like a cow and watched him in a disinterested manner.

Alfred shivered. This place was giving him flashbacks, and he hadn't even been alive when this stuff was popular.

Arthur had commandeered a booth in the corner by the window. He'd already ordered a cup of tea. Sub-par tea if his grimace was anything to go by.

Alfred sat down across from Arthur, puddle already forming underneath him on the fake leather seats. Arthur gave his soaked appearance a once over.

"You went after Hitler, didn't you?"

Alfred pulled the GPS in question out from under his jacket. "Yup."

"Just so you know, if that thing talks I'm killing it."

"Duly noted."

Arthur handed him a menu and sipped his tea.

Alfred began to look over the menu, or more specifically the prices. He chewed his lips anxiously. Arthur didn't take long to notice.

"What's wrong? I'd think a glutton like you could find something appetizing."

Alfred hesitated for a moment before replying.

"It's just- I don't exactly have the cash to keep paying for all this."

He suddenly had Arthur's undivided attention. Alfred lowered his gaze to the table, feeling his ears heat up with embarrassment and shame.

Gas money wasn't cheap. And Alfred didn't exactly have a stable income anymore. Fast food was inexpensive and it meant that Alfred got fed while still having funds to channel into other ventures.

Arthur carefully set his cup back on its saucer with a slight clink.

"Excuse me for a moment, would you." he got up from the booth, eyes not leaving Alfred "I'll be right back."

He walked away with the gait of someone on a mission. Alfred was left alone to stare longingly at glossy pictures of bacon cheeseburgers.

The waitress stopped by, still smacking her mouth obnoxiously, and asked if he was ready to order. He requested a Coke and went back to his menu. His options seemed to be limited to the appetizer or salad sections.

None of the items seemed to be very filling.

Would Arthur understand if he didn't order anything?

Maybe he could hop in his car and drive to McDonalds for a bite. If he was fast and Arthur took his time doing whatever it was he was doing, then maybe-

Too late, Arthur was back.

Arthur sat down and slid approximately one hundred and seven dollars and eighty two cents in small bills and loose change across the table to Alfred. For him, this action seemed to be the most natural thing in the world and he performed it with no hesitation. Then he picked up his tea, took a sip, and glanced at his menu like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Alfred, of course, freaked the fuck out.

"Dude, you were gone for like two minutes, how-?"

Arthur glared at him.

The glare said 'Shut you face'.

Alfred managed to obey for all of four seconds.

"Where? How? What?"

"Stop drawing attention to yourself."

Alfred suddenly realized there was a wad of cash in front of him and quickly stuffed it under his shirt before the waitress could come back and start asking questions. If that happened, Arthur might have to kill her.

Alfred was already an accomplice in whatever this endeavor was. He didn't want to get mixed up in murder as well.

"But-"

"Don't worry. You need it and it won't be missed."

"But-"

"I'm not giving it back and the waitress is coming. Pick something. Order it. Eat it. Thanks would be nice."

"I'm not going to thank you for stealing." Alfred mumbled, but he turned back to the menu and didn't press the issue.

Their waitress arrived and set down Alfred's Coke. Arthur immediately began rattling off some complicated variation of a steak special. The waitress scrambled for her notepad, clearly not able to remember this on own.

Alfred took a drink. Urg. Diet. He saved her from death by Brit, and this is how she rewards him?

He snapped his order at her when she addressed him. If she got his order wrong, he was so complaining to the manager.

She backed off quickly and they were alone again.

You don't quite realize how awkward things are between two people until they sit down together and try to hold a conversation over dinner.

"So..."

"As I will have to sit through you stuffing meat and cheese into that gaping hole you call a mouth, I would appreciate it very much if you would just shut up and let me enjoy the calm until our food actually gets here."

This time, Alfred managed to stay silent for longer than four seconds. He fiddled with the money hidden awkwardly under his shirt and watched Arthur watch the rain. In fact, he was quite up to the moment their food arrived.

Once that happened, all bets were off.

The waitress had apparently gotten Arthur's order wrong. He glared at her fiercely, but she seemed unaffected. Or maybe she was just too dense to notice.

Alfred giggled after she left.

"You're losing your touch."

Arthur turned his glare on Alfred. Part of him cowered in fear, but the rest charged blindly forwards.

"Used to be you could send anyone away screaming. What happened? Now you're about as threatening as a room filled with nuns."

"Oh really?"

Arthur had a steak knife, silver and dull from years of usage. His fingers make a fist around the black handle. He put his other hand palm down on the table.

Alfred knew where Arthur was going with this. He'd seen it in Aliens.

The knife's curved edge tapped the space between Arthur's thumb and index finger. Then between index finger and middle. Then the next gat. Then the next gap. Then back to the space between index finger and thumb. Over and over again. He watched the flicker of silver. Tap tap tap between the spaces. Faster and faster and faster and-

Arthur's arm struck outwards.

Before Alfred could track its movement, there was a loud clink of china and Arthur's knife had been driven all the way through Alfred's double decker burger.

Alfred watched, hypnotized, as Arthur unwrapped his finger from around the knife. The Brit leaned back, as smug as Alfred had even seen him.

Alfred looked into those green eyes. Beneath the smug superiority was a glint of something harsher, and Alfred tried to preserve the sight so that he wouldn't forget.

Arthur was dangerous when he wanted to be.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Again, not as polished as I want it to be, but I abandoned you all last week to write GerIta, so I thought you deserved an update.<strong>

**Also, despite Alfred's claims that nuns are harmless, I'd like to assure you that they can be scary scary ladies when they want to be.**

**Continue?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 7]<p>

* * *

><p>Alfred's first word of the day was creaky, dusty, and sounded like it was coming from the throat of something bandage wrapped and freshly revived from its sarcophagus.<p>

"Coffee-" he groaned.

"If you think I'm going to fetch you some, you are sorely mistaken."

Alfred pried his face off his spit damp pillow. Arthur was already up and reviewing notes.

"Dude, do you ever sleep?"

He knew Arthur had to sleep. Arthur got tired. And sometimes, when he woke up in the mornings, Arthur's hair was tufted in odd directions indicating that it had met a pillow at some point. So, theoretically, he knew Arthur slept. He'd just never seen him do it.

"Of course I do. I just don't hibernate like you do. Now get up. We have things to do."

This meant that Arthur had things to do. Alfred would be left behind in some place or another with the order to get to the car and start it if Arthur ran into trouble.

He was a getaway driver. That was going to look so nice on his resume.

He slipped out of over starched hotel sheets, grumbling as he went.

Mornings just weren't fun anymore. No sleeping in. No plush sheets. No early morning cartoons. No marshmallowy cereals. No superhero pajamas.

He missed his Batman pajamas. Those things had been kick ass. Had a cape and everything.

He made his way across the room sadly dressed in a shirt and boxers instead of Dark Knight sleepwear. Rummaging through his duffel bag he found a much wrinkled shirt. He gave it a sniff and after a brief coughing fit swore to find a laundromat as soon as possible.

Or at least some Febreze.

But before hunting for fabric freshener, there was something more important to find.

"So about that coffee..." he trailed off, looking at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur spared him a grumpy glance.

"No coffee until you put on pants."

Well, that was fair enough.

* * *

><p>While Alfred still wasn't sure what moral standpoint to take about Arthur's mystery funds, he had to admit that the dollars used to acquire diner coffee instead of McDonald's joe were dollars well spent.<p>

Bacon money was also important.

To a lesser extent, so too were pancake, French toast, omelet, and hash brown money.

But it was mostly about bacon and coffee.

And tea. Arthur was living up to the British stereotype and spent most of his time swimming in the stuff. If given the choice, it would probably be all he drank.

They ate breakfast in a diner full of half-asleep truckers, Alfred shoveling greasy meat and eggs into his mouth and Arthur sipping tea. Alfred took a swig of coffee and spoke up.

"Hey. I was going to see about finding a laundromat. Got anything you need washed?"

Arthur had less luggage than Alfred. Odds were his attire needed a washing even more desperately than Alfred's did.

Arthur arched an oversized eyebrow. "You're offering to do my laundry?"

"Yes."

"I'm flattered, but I'm not sure I want some strange man fiddling with my underthings."

"Shut up and give me quarters."

"No I don't think I will. My underthings are quite important after all."

"Dude, they're just smaller pants that you wear under your pants."

"Maybe for you. But I can't exactly seduce someone in Superman boxers."

"You- What?"

"You know, seduce." Arthur said, clinking a spoon around in his tea mug "You've seen spy films haven't you? Sexy underwear is a must if you want to get anywhere in the field of espionage."

He took a sip of tea and grinned at the silently flustered American.

Alfred floundered for a comeback.

But what could you say when your apparently straight laced kidnapper/companion suddenly told you that those information gathering sessions they went on may or may not have included sexy underwear?

"I- I think you're bluffing."

Arthur had better be joking. He didn't think he'd be able to live with the image of- No! Don't think about it!

Hopefully the waitress would stumble along and save him from whatever this was that he'd manage to get into.

"Really? Then do my laundry and find out."

Arthur's eyes slid half closed and he smiled in mildly sadistic delight.

Alfred came to realization that there would be no rescue. Only he could save himself now.

He flung up his hand as far and fast as it would go.

"Miss!" he called, then coughed, voice having cracked in panic "More coffee!"

* * *

><p>"Make sure you fold them properly, Alfred." Alfred said in a high pitched British accent. "I can't be seen looking like some overly wrinkled hobo. You know, like you."<p>

Until this moment, he had never believed than folding laundry was something someone could do while angry. It had always seemed so soothing. And yet, here he was, sorting clean clothes in a way that could be described as 'wrathful'.

"I'm not a fucking hobo." he told his Domo-kun shirt, which would have screamed for mercy had it been a lesser tee. "Hobos wish they looked as good as I do."

If only he'd had a red shirt to throw in with Arthur's whites. He'd like to see how tough Mr. Super-Spy was walking around with pink undies.

And not even sexy undies. Arthur had lied about that. Just normal, everyday underwear dyed pink.

He giggled at the thought, but then realized that, unlike him, Arthur wasn't prone to wandering around in his boxers. So even if he did dye them pink, he'd never actually know if and when Arthur was wearing them. How was he supposed to sneer knowingly if he had no clue? It kind of took the fun out of the idea.

He was still perfectly willing to dye Arthur's socks pink out of spite though.

Oh yes, he'd have to remember that for next time.

He picked up the next shirt. Green with long sleeves. One of Arthur's. He glared at it.

This was the last time he did anything nice for Arthur.

Ever.

In fact, if he came back right now mortally injured, Alfred would make him beg before taking him to the hospital.

Ok, maybe not that. Alfred wasn't that heartless.

But supposing Arthur found himself in low to moderate danger, Alfred would quite possibly deny Arthur assistance until Arthur acknowledged that Alfred was a helpful assistant and not a smelly hobo.

That would show him.

Alfred managed to fold the shirt in half before realizing how lame he was becoming.

No! He would not be housewife to a foreign agent! When Arthur got back, Alfred was going to give him a piece of his mind!

That's right! As soon as Arthur got back, he was-

The door opened and Alfred forgot about his angry rant.

"Oh God. Please tell me that's ketchup."

Arthur rushed towards the bathroom, not even slowing as he threw Alfred a look that said 'You're an idiot'.

Alfred followed, still holding the half-folded shirt.

He supposed he was an idiot. There was no way the sticky red that now coated Arthur's hands and the right side of his chest could be ketchup. Alfred had seen enough ketchup stains in his time to know that ketchup didn't dry to that color brown.

He'd played enough football to know that blood did.

What was happening? Were they in danger? Was Arthur hurt? Had Arthur hurt someone? Had Arthur killed someone? Did Arthur know what sort of shit that would put them in? Did Arthur know what that position that would put Alfred in? Did Arthur even remember that Alfred was a civilian? Did Arthur realize that Alfred couldn't afford to be involved in something like this the way an agent could? And did Arthur have any idea how many quarters it was going to take to wash that stain out?

"Arthur?" he called, peering anxiously through the open bathroom door.

Arthur stood over the sink scrubbing vigorously at his arms. The water turned pink as it swirled down the drain. He turned off the faucet and then swore at his shirt, as if seeing the large dark stain for the first time. He moved towards the tub and sat down on the edge, face hidden in his hands.

"Arthur-"

"I'm fine. Shut up. I need to think."

"Arthur, what's-"

"I said shut up!"

Arthur looked at Alfred, who was lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

"They've found me. We need to leave."

"But, what do-"

Arthur stood abruptly, more put together than he had been a few minutes ago.

"Get me a shirt and then check us out. Get in the car and drive three blocks south to that abandoned gas station. I'll meet you there in half an hour. While you're waiting, plot an escape route. Back-roads or side-roads only. And for god's sake, do it yourself. Leave that damned machine out of this. We can't afford to screw up right now."

Arthur was now looking under the sink, pulling out assorted bottles of bathroom cleaner.

"What are you doing?"

"I've got some cleaning up to do."

And somehow, Alfred didn't think he was talking about the shirt.

* * *

><p>Arthur got into the car exactly twenty eight minutes later smelling faintly of garbage and bleach.<p>

"Have you got a way out of here?" he asked as he buckled in.

Alfred ran his fingers across his pocket feeling the folded edges of Tino's note through the denim.

"Yeah." he said "I think I do."

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I've had some people ask, so I'm just going to confirm that there will eventually be slash of the USUK variety. There's been a warning for this at the top of the page since chapter one.<strong>

**It's understandable that you're confused, as nothing overtly slashy has happened so far. With my current chapter plans (which are very much subject to change) the slash won't really start till around the halfway point of this fic.**

**Rest assured, the slash is coming.**

**And while we're on the subject of warnings, I'd like to call your attention to the 'appallingly slow updates' warning. Sad to say, that too will soon be coming into effect.**

**I don't expect to be incommunicado for too long, but I hope you will bear with me until I can hash out a regular updating schedule again.**

**I send my thanks to everyone reading this and hope you all understand.**

**Continue?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 8]<p>

* * *

><p>Sitting in a car with a person you intend to betray was like sitting in a zoo enclosure wearing a gorilla suit. You were fine as long as you were believed to be the gorilla you were dressed as. But the moment you slipped up, you would be torn apart by the wild animals you had been trying to befriend.<p>

Alfred wondered if Jane Goodall ever felt like this. Benedict Arnold certainly had, but Alfred tried not to think of this in terms of treachery and betrayal. He was doing this for the greater good. He tried not to look at Arthur directly as he reassured himself. It made him feel all guilty and stuff.

He flicked on his left turn signal and tried to ignore the feeling.

"Turn back now." said Hitler. The unpleasant feeling in Alfred's stomach lurched.

Since when was Hitler his voice of reason? Or was it conscience?

He had the sudden horrifying image of Hitler mixed with Jiminy Cricket.

Voice of reason. Hitler was definitely a voice of reason. Except he wasn't. No. Definitely wasn't. In fact- Damn. What had he been thinking about? Crickets? No, that wasn't right.

"Light's green." said Arthur.

Alfred startled at the British accent and pulled a little too hard on the steering wheel. He corrected before he hit the curb, but was subjected to some rather choice words about his driving skills.

Oh, right. Benedict Arnold. Gorilla suit. He grit his teeth and kept driving. His safe haven was just two blocks away, and then this would all be over. Two blocks later, he found what he was looking for.

The safe haven that Tino had promised was apparently one of those chain restaurants that hadn't branched out of the state yet. Odd. But at least it gave Alfred a good excuse for pulling over.

"I'm hungry."

Arthur rolled his eyes and grumbled, but got out of the car. He stretched, neck cracking as Alfred locked up.

The restaurant's interior was tacky; walls covered in red paint and framed photographs. Alfred couldn't make out any sort of theme besides obnoxious. The sign at the entrance said 'Seat Yourselves' so Alfred meandered towards the nearest booth, Arthur following behind. He sat down. Presumably, someone would serve them soon.

Alfred stretched his legs. He was just beginning to think he was out of the woods when Arthur twitched and began surveying the restaurant cautiously.

"Something's not right."

"What?" he asked, internally beginning to panic.

"Don't know." Arthur replied, then fixed Alfred with a glare that left no room for argument. "Stay here."

Arthur pushed himself up out of the booth and disappeared behind the 'Employees Only' door.

It wasn't until Arthur left that Alfred realized how empty the room was.

Alfred unwrapped his silverware and fiddled with his fork. Eventually, he got bored or spinning it around and made the discovery that his silverware was magnetized. To entertain himself, he began testing how close he could get his knife and fork before magnetic force would pull them together with a 'plink'.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

"Mr. Jones?"

Alfred jumped, his silverware falling under the table with a dull clatter.

"Uh- Yes?"

"Thank you for coming. Tino wishes to inform you that you've outlived your usefulness. He sends his regrets."

Every hope Alfred had crumbled to ash, his mouth going dry. This was a set up. Tino had used him.

The man reached under his jacket, presumably to reach for a weapon, and then went tense, freezing in place. Alfred glanced down at the thin gray line of the knife Arthur had just placed against the thug's throat.

Where had Arthur even come from? Whatever happened to footsteps? Didn't these people make noise?

"I'm afraid Tino's been misinformed. I find that Jones will still be of use to me yet."

Oh fuck. Had Arthur heard that? Did he know?

If he did, Alfred was dead. Either the thugs would kill him, or Arthur would.

"I don't know how you managed to find me, but it was unfortunate for you that you did."

Arthur didn't know. Hope flared in Alfred's stomach, only to mix with more of that nauseous guilty feeling.

The man scoffed at Arthur's words and whistled twice. Three more thugs slunk into the room, looking large and intimidating. Alfred watched as Arthur scanned the room, green eyes calculating.

"Well? You gonna drop it, or am I gonna have to get my boys to make you?" the man asked.

Arthur reluctantly let him go, letting the knife drop to the floor.

"Not so tough now, are you?" the man sneered. "You're just a bunch of punks. The both of you. Well, where I come from? We teach punks lessons. So which of you wants to learn first?"

He sized them up and, after noting Alfred's considerable bulk, reached for Arthur.

This was a horrible, horrible idea.

Arthur grabbed his outstretched arm and spun, back to the man, before flipping him in a textbook hip toss. The man hit the floor on his back, wheezing. He made an aborted attempt at getting up. Arthur curled his leg up towards his torso and then lashed out, effectively curb stomping the man into submission.

Alfred stared, shocked, as the thug went down for good. Arthur had taken him out in, literally, seven seconds.

Tino's men shuffled around anxiously, looking at their fallen comrade on the floor and then back up at the Brit.

Arthur smiled, something feral lingering in his grin. "Well, come on then."

Alfred took this as his cue to hide under the table and be quiet.

The thugs, who obviously didn't know Arthur as well as Alfred did, decided to charge.

Thug number one hadn't learned anything from watching Arthur, and threw a punch as soon as he was in range. Arthur sidestepped and then knocked him on his ass with a leg sweep before dodging a blow from thug number two. He brought his fists up and lashed out with a mean right hook that collided just below the thug's ear and snapped his head to the side. Thug number two collapsed with his mouth open and his eyes rolled up. He hit the floor at roughly the same time thug one stood up and thug three entered the fight.

Arthur blocked three blows from thug three and then ducked under a wild swing from number one. He pivoted on his heel as he came back up, driving his elbow into thug one's stomach, right below the ribcage. Number one hit the floor again, and this time he didn't get back up. Thug three attempted a few more attacks before he went down with the help of a vicious roundhouse kick from Arthur that knocked him into a table. There was a cacophony of crashes before everything quieted to a deafening silence.

Alfred's inner Street Fighter announcer screamed 'K.O.!' into the carnage. It was kind of awesome. You know, in an 'oh-my-god-they-tried-to-kill-me' sort of way.

"Alfred!" Arthur barked. "Car! Now!"

Alfred scrambled out from under the table and joined Arthur in a mad dash for the door. He was the getaway driver, and for once he really didn't mind his job.

It was time to get the hell out of dodge.

Alfred sped out of the parking lot and past buildings, ignoring stoplights and road signs in his quest to find the highway. He finally found the exit he was looking for and took off at speeds that probably weren't legal even on the autobahn.

He was just starting to relax and lay off the gas when Arthur spoke up.

"We're being followed. Can this hunk of junk move any faster?"

Alfred had a sudden epiphany.

He was in a car chase. He was in an honest to god car chase with a secret agent and bad guys in a van and everything. He always thought it'd be cooler. More like 'Bullitt' and less terrifying.

Alfred floored it, eyes flicking up every so often to watch the speck in his rear view mirror get closer and more car shaped. Arthur caught sight of this.

"Stop looking back. I'm looking back. You watch the damned road." he snapped.

"But how will I know if they're gaining?" Alfred asked, glancing up at the mirror again.

"Trust me, when they catch up, you'll know."

It wasn't a very reassuring thought.

He kept his eyes on the road though. His hands grasped the steering wheel for dear life and he watched as the broken lines zipped by faster and faster, and Arthur grew more tense beside him, and the sound of another engine grew louder. His grip turned tighter, hands going white knuckled at ten and two.

They were coming up fast. Alfred was starting to wonder if they needed to think up another plan when Arthur threw his hands over his head and bent double, screaming for Alfred to "Get down!"

Alfred obediently ducked as far down as he could without losing sight of the road. The sound of gunfire ripped through the air and then Alfred's rear window shattered. As glass rained down on the backseat, Alfred realized he was going to die. He was going to die and his insurance premiums were going to go through the roof. There was no way his agent was going to believe this story.

Three gun bursts later, Alfred was still alive, but his car was very much in a bad way. He turned to Arthur, who was still crouched down in his seat, watching the proceedings through the side view mirror.

"Why aren't you firing back?"

Arthur glared at him from his contorted position.

"I've got a handgun, not a semi-automatic. The damage I could foreseeably do to them is minimal and not worth the ammo I'd have to expend."

"Well, do something!"

"Do I look like an action hero to you?"

Alfred wanted to deliver a snarky comment about the martial arts expo Arthur had given back at the restaurant, but never got the chance. The gunman in the van opened fire again, and suddenly Arthur no longer had a side mirror to look at. He also didn't have a window. Wind whipped through the car, stirring up napkins and various junk food wrappers. Arthur swore amongst a whirlwind of trash, though whether he was swearing at being shot at or the garbage was open to interpretation.

Deciding to try taking matters into his own hands, Alfred swerved onto an off-ramp in the hopes that they could ditch their pursuers. To his right, the ground fell away sharply, turning from gently sloped grass to a steep gravel incline. Something told him this turn hadn't been a good idea.

For one thing, it hadn't thrown off the van. It was still hot on their tail and gaining.

"Ideas?" he shouted, not looking away from the road and the approaching vehicle.

The van pulled up alongside them. If they opened fire at his range, there was no way they'd miss. The flimsy construction of Alfred's car wouldn't stand up to high velocity rounds. He waited for the man in the passenger seat to open fire. He didn't. Instead, he seemed to be bracing himself. The driver gave the wheel a hard jerk. Alfred figured out what was happening just as Arthur began to call out a warning.

"They're trying to-" the cars collided. Having decided bullets weren't working, Tino's men were now using their car as a battering ram. The force of the impact threw Alfred to the side and he winced as his seatbelt dug into his shoulder. Arthur hit the side of the door and gasped, grabbing his head as he finished his sentence "-run us off the road!"

Alfred managed to be hopeful for about all of three seconds before they were rammed again. He managed to brace himself this time, but he was still tossed to the side like a ragdoll. He yanked the steering wheel, bringing the car farther from the edge. He took a look at their opponents.

Alfred's optimism fled after noting how outclassed they were. Tino's men were in a souped up SUV and Alfred was in a hand-me-down compact car with loose door handles and windows that stuck. He was surprised his ride hadn't already crumpled like poor quality tin foil.

The fall to his right was also getting steadily higher.

He turned to Arthur in the hopes that his companion had finally come up with a plan. Arthur hadn't. He also appeared to be bleeding slightly from his forehead. He'd probably cut it on the glass fragments of his window during that first bludgeoning.

"You ok?" Alfred shouted.

"Not really!" Arthur shouted back. "Go faster!"

"I'm giving her all she's got!"

Given the circumstances, Star Trek references probably weren't appropriate. But Alfred didn't have anything else to fall back on, and being able to quote Scotty was comforting. It was either Star Trek or hysteria, and Star Trek was the better option.

There was another slam, this one accompanied by the shriek of twisting metal and the pop of guardrails coming loose. His front right tire skidded over asphalt, crunched over gravel, and then spun wildly in midair. Alfred had one last moment of blank terror before his car went over the edge, passengers and all.

Disregarding the tumble down the cliff, it was a rather unremarkable car crash.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Yay! Action sequences! If only I didn't suck at them…<strong>

**The slow update warning's still in effect. Sorry. My schedule's still wonky.**

**Also, next chapter will contain character death… Sort of…**

**Continue?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 9]<p>

* * *

><p>Hollywood movies had prepared Alfred for car crashes. They had prepared him for brutal collisions, twisted metal, and horrific fireballs.<p>

They had not prepared him for the deployment of his airbag. He had been taken completely by surprise, and now his nose was taking the brunt of that. But seeing as Hollywood had also prepared him for lacerations, broken bones, and internal bleeding, he wasn't that bad off.

Nose still hurt like a bitch though.

He reached weakly for the door handle and gave it a few harsh tugs before the door finally opened. Unfortunately, as his car had developed a thirty degree tilt to the driver's side, opening the door immediately preceded sliding out of his seat and flopping awkwardly onto the ground. His landing was followed by a creaking sound and a thump, which let him know that Arthur was alive and in much the same position that he was. Only Arthur probably had a larger drop to deal with, what with the tilt and all.

Alfred managed to pick himself up and stagger in a sloppy half circle away from the wreck before his legs decided he wasn't ready for motion yet and left him flopping on the ground once more.

From his vantage point, he could make out Arthur slowly picking himself up, leaning on the car for support. Alfred guessed that made Arthur the smarter of the two of them.

"You alive?" Arthur grunted.

"Yes." Alfred moaned.

"Try to sound more enthusiastic about that."

It was hard to be happy about life when your body felt like dirt after a particularly enthusiastic stampede had trampled it and your nose was hosting a rave party filled with knives that stabbed at your sinuses whenever the bass picked up.

Alfred's nose gave a particularly violent throb and he moaned again.

"Stop being a whiner." Arthur snapped and pushed off the car and into an upright position. It seemed his legs weren't working any better than Alfred's, because in the next moment he had toppled over backwards onto his ass. Muffled swearing could be heard on the other side of Alfred's car.

Alfred snorted in amusement, and immediately regretted it. The last time his nose had hurt this bad had been back in high school when he'd broken it in a football game. He grit his teeth and pushed himself upright, one palm down in the dirt to keep himself from tipping over. His other hand he brought up to his nose, prodding against cartilage with feather light touches. He gasped involuntarily at the resulting pain. But his nose felt the right shape, so he assumed he was alright.

He pulled his hand away and spotted blood on his fingertips and amended his previous assessment. Not quite alright seemed a better description.

"You doing ok over there, Artie?"

"Don't call me Artie." was the response. Yeah, Arthur was fine.

Alfred picked himself off the ground, and this time he managed to stay upright. Deciding this time it would be best to wait until he stopped wobbling before taking a step, he surveyed the damage.

Alfred had thought his car was about as durable as a soda can, but lying before him was proof that the crash test people knew what they were doing. Admittedly, his car was now a twisted heap, and who knows where his back left tire had gone, but he and his passenger were both alive and not too worse for wear.

He'd probably have to send the car company a thank you card. Did Hallmark make things for this occasion?

Arthur lifted himself up again, once more leaning on Alfred's car for support. Alfred's trunk, having decided it was never going to close again, wobbled in resentment as Arthur's weight pushed it down. The Brit looked exactly how Alfred felt. The cut on his forehead was still bleeding sluggishly, blood caked to his face and bits of his hair stuck up in tacky spikes. Every move he made screamed bruising.

"You alive?" Alfred asked.

"I'm above ground and vertical." he grumbled. Arthur managed to stand and made his way over to Alfred. Free of Arthur's weight, the trunk sprung open with a creaking thunk. The two of them stood side by side next to the wreck. Alfred wondered to himself what exactly they were supposed to do now. This seemed like the end of the road.

"At the end of the road road road road." echoed a disembodied voice.

Alfred and Arthur jumped. Alfred spent several seconds wondering if he had gone crazy before he figured it out.

Hitler.

Alfred made a mad dash to the vehicle and was able to pry Hitler out from under the remains of his gas pedal. He backed off, cradling the GPS to his chest with more affection than he had ever though he would give the device. Arthur looked on, slightly disgusted, as Alfred began to check it for damage.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking it for damage." Alfred answered. Against all odds, his GPS seemed to be functional. He scrubbed at a mark on Hitler's display, hoping it was dirt instead of a scratch.

"Stop it." Arthur commanded, something tight in his voice.

Alfred looked up from the screen, confused. "But I need to make sure it's ok."

"No. You don't."

"But I do. If Hitler's broken then I need to buy a new GPS, and I-"

"Would you forget the damn machine!" Arthur screamed and slapped Hitler out of Alfred's hands. The GPS flew out of Alfred's grasp and kicked up clods of dirt as it tumbled end over end for several feet before coming to a stop with a sad cry of "Road."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Alfred shouted. He made to go pick Hitler up, but Arthur began talking and he stopped in his tracks.

"The fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Tino just tried to have us killed, and you're worried about your stupid little machine!"

"But-"

"No!" Arthur interrupted. "I don't want to hear it! I've had enough of you and I've had enough of your bullshit! Do you even realize the situation you're in, or has a lifetime of fat rendered you incapable of thinking about anything other than when and where you can shove your next meal down your pie hole?"

Arthur stormed up to Alfred, now truly angry for reasons Alfred didn't understand.

"Three hundred million of you in this country and I get stuck with the stupidest-" he jabbed his index finger into Alfred's chest "laziest-" another jab "most useless mockery of an American it has ever been my misfortune to meet!" he finished.

Alfred lunged.

Arthur, caught off guard, didn't to get out of the way in time and Alfred managed to get him in some sort of stranglehold. He began making desperate attempts to hit Arthur, but Arthur had already wiggled halfway out of his grasp and had begun to retaliate. Unbalanced, but unwilling to stop attacking, they both fell over in the dust kicking and clawing and tugging and yelling at each other. Hitler added lazy commentary from somewhere to the left of the angry mass of limbs the two had become.

"You ruined my life!"

"You ruined your own life, git!"

"End of the road."

They rolled, both struggling to stay on top long enough to do damage to the other's face. Arthur was on top of him now, knees digging into his stomach and fists trying to find his face. Alfred tugged one handed at Arthur's shirt, other hand thrown up to protect his face.

"Are those your eyebrows or did a double decker buses park on your face?"

"Presumptuous vassal! Fat, greasy citizen! You foul, undigested lump of-"

"End of the road."

"Are those supposed to be insults? Call me a fucker and be done with it!"

"Wanker! I'll use small words so you can understand! You stupid fucking asshole! I've met some stupid fucks in my life, but they're all astrophysicists compared to you!"

They clawed at each other, looking for handholds or vulnerable places to inflict damage upon. Knees knocked against each other as they tried to strike or pin down. Alfred's glasses were askew. Their hair was mussed. They were bleeding from a plethora of new scratches and there was no way in hell they wouldn't be purplish and sore the next day. Arthur got in a good strike on his ribs, and Alfred had a revelation.

He was having a cat fight with a secret agent by the side of a road among the wreckage of the one object of any real value he had possessed.

He hoped this counted as the low point of his life.

If he ever sank further than this, he might just have to kill himself.

"You're emotionally crippled, your soul is a rotted carcass not fit for vultures, you couldn't have fun if your fucking queen ordered you to, and you smell!"

"Leave the queen out of this! At least I have some sense of loyalty unlike a certain backstabbing, uneducated, backwards, cow-fucking redneck!"

"End of the road."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm the guy trying to do his job, you must be the other guy. The one who can't take his hand off his sandwich long enough to actually do anything useful!"

"Fuckface!

"Is that all you-"

Alfred rolled them again, this time pinning Arthur to the ground. Arthur made an incoherent sound of rage and tried to twist free. Alfred kept him still.

"Fuckface! Fuckface! Artie has a fuckface!" Alfred sang. "Hey Arthur, what did the kids call you back in school? There must have been some good ones. Bet they all ganged up on ugly little Artie. Bet you didn't have any friends to defend you. Come on, what did they call you? You can tell me."

There was raw hurt in Arthur's eyes that made Alfred feel simultaneously diseased and empowered. He allowed himself to bask in the moment, not caring that he knew he'd regret all this later.

He was victorious for all of two seconds before Arthur managed to hit his already injured nose. He recoiled in agony and Arthur made his escape. The Brit scrambled to his feet, Alfred not far behind. They were both unsteady, and if this turned into a fist fight, they'd both just wind up on the ground again. However, it seemed like Arthur was no longer interested in going toe to toe with Alfred.

Arthur fumbled at his sides for a minute and then drew out his gun. Alfred was too angry and too fed up with his situation to feel fear right now.

"What? You gonna shoot me?" he laughed.

"I just might." Arthur growled.

"End of the road." Hitler said ominously.

"Go on, do it!"

"I'm warning you, Jones!"

"End of the road."

"I dare you!"

"Don't push me!"

"End of the road!"

"Come on! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chick-"

_**Bang!**_

Few things in this world can get someone to shut up as quickly or as effectively as the sound of a gunshot. And, true to form, when Arthur's gun discharged, all attempts at conversation ceased.

Alfred gave a choked gasp and his hands moved instinctively, if belatedly, to wrap around his stomach.

"You-" he stuttered "You shot-"

Alfred lowered his gaze to the ground.

To Hitler.

That poor electronic bastard.

"You shot Hitler." Alfred said weakly. A small part of him found this funny. The rest of him was busy being terrified of the foreigner with the gun.

"Yes." Arthur holstered his weapon "I shot Hitler."

Alfred opened his mouth ineffectively a few times before managing to croak out "Why?"

"It was either it or you, and it deserved a bullet in its face more than you did." Arthur answered. He was strangely calm now. Alfred found it more than a little unnerving.

"Ok." he said weakly.

"If there's anything of value in your car, get it now. We're leaving." Arthur ordered.

"Ok." Alfred repeated.

He staggered toward the wreck. From the gaping opening of his trunk he pulled out the backpack of emergency supplies. The duffle bags in his backseat were harder to retrieve, as his rear doors were as determined to stay closed as his trunk had been to stay open. Eventually, he performed a careful wriggle through the widows, mindful of the glass, and pulled them out. Arthur watched as he slung them over himself and trudged back.

On the way, he picked up what was left of Hitler.

Arthur frowned. "Why are you taking that with you?"

"I might be able to fix it." he reasoned.

They both looked at the device. There was a rather obvious bullet hole in the middle of its screen. Manpower would not fix Hitler. Nothing short of a miracle would fix Hitler at this point.

"Ok," Alfred admitted "So maybe I just want to have something to comfort me in the shitstorm that my life has turned into. And since my car is totaled, this is the only friend that I've got!"

"Hitler is your only friend?"

"Well, you sure as hell aren't my friend!" Alfred shot back.

Arthur's frown deepened. "Face it, Jones. I'm the only friend you've got. I don't exactly like you either, but if we don't work together, we're not getting out of this alive. So drop that thing in the dirt where it belongs and let's be off."

The anger flared up in Alfred's stomach once more.

"That's it! Who gave you the right to boss me around? I'm sick of taking your stupid orders."

"Last time I checked, I was the man with the gun. That gives me all the authority I need to order your sorry ass around. Now let's go."

"No." Alfred said, digging his heels into the dirt and standing up straighter.

"Jones. I'm not in the mood for this. Start walking or I'll shoot you like I shot your 'friend'."

"You know what? Go ahead! Shoot me! It's not like you don't have a history of shooting your partners!"

Arthur flinched, eyes going wide. "What?"

"You heard me! Though I suppose I don't even rank that high! I'm not your partner, just a lackey! Guess that means you'll have no trouble shooting me!"

"Don't you dare make those sorts of accusations! You don't know the whole story! You don't know anything!"

"I know enough! I know what happened to them. And I know it was all your fault. How could I trust a person like that? How could anyone trust a person like that? How could anyone trust you?"

Arthur made no response, so Alfred continued.

"You say that you're trying to fix this, but the reality is that this is your fault. Everything that's happened has been your fault. You ruin lives, that's what you do. And you don't even have the common courtesy to own up to it, much less begin to fix it. I feel sorry for your partner. I feel sorry for anyone who had to spend any amount of time in your presence."

Instead of getting angry, Arthur... Arthur crumpled.

One minute he was standing ramrod straight and brimming with indignation, and the next he had sagged, his body language screaming defeat.

"Arthur-" Alfred began, not really knowing what to say.

"Go away, Jones. Just go away."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Arthur was already walking away. His steps were slow, like he didn't know where he was going and he didn't have the energy to get there. Eventually, he sat down on a rock not far from the car, shoulders slumped. At a loss, Alfred staggered away.

If there was one thing Alfred hated more than anything else, it was being the bad guy. And right now he felt like the Joker, if the Joker had just released nerve gas on a city's worth of kindergarteners and then climbed aboard some sort of chainsaw machine to go wakeboarding through a sea of puppies.

Alfred didn't manage to get more than ten yards away before the guilt dragged him back.

Arthur was sitting on a large rock, almost exactly where he'd been when Alfred had left. He didn't turn as Alfred approached.

"What? Did you change your mind about being shot?" he said, but it lacked his earlier venom.

Alfred didn't respond immediately, instead he pulled a tire away from the wreck and dragged it over to Arthur's rock. He sat down, a bit too close for Arthur's liking if his edging away was any indication. It was only when his bags had been safely tucked next to his rubber seat that he spoke.

"When you first got me involved in all of this, I tried to tell you my story. You didn't care, you even told me as much. That didn't stop me from talking to you though. And you talked to me too. But it occurs to me that while you told me about your mission, you never told me about yourself. You said I don't know the whole story. How can I when you never bothered to share? That's why I came back. Not to get shot, I really don't want to be shot, but to be sympathetic."

Arthur waited until Alfred was done, and when he replied his voice was oddly subdued.

"Do you have the attention span of a gold fish? Do you remember what you said to me? What I said to you? What could we possible have to talk about? I think we've both made it explicitly clear what we think about each other. There is nothing left to say. So you'll excuse my disbelief when I hear you say you're offering me 'sympathy'."

Alfred sighed.

"Whether you believe me or not, I'm here to listen. So, Arthur, please-"

Alfred sent a look Arthur's way. It was hopeful, and desperate, and an olive branch if Arthur had ever seen one.

"Talk to me."

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>Hitler's dead.<strong>

**I'd apologize, but, well, you try saying 'I'm sorry Hitler's dead' out loud.**

**It feels weird.**

**This chapter and the next really don't want to be written, but I'm trying my best to keep them from being too cringe worthy.**

**Continue?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 10]<p>

* * *

><p>Alfred sat on his tire in silence and watched the afternoon slip away into early evening. It wasn't until the shadows had grown long and the sky had turned pink around the edges that Arthur made any effort to speak. He cleared his throat and coughed quietly, trying to catch Alfred's attention. He had it, as he found out when he looked over. Arthur's green eyes tore themselves away from Alfred's blue and directed themselves towards the ground once more. The Brit gave another quiet cough.<p>

"It wasn't- This all-" he sighed and curled his legs up to his chest. His arms wrapped around them and Alfred watched his fingers lacing together at the tops of his shoes. "Everything is so messed up."

"Though I suppose" he continued, and dropped his chin to his knees "that I should have known from the very beginning that things would end this way."

"It all started- Well, it didn't start with the deal in Skagen. It started with Tino. Skagen is just where I go involved. And- Bollocks. I'm not doing a very good job of explaining this am I?" he peered anxiously over at Alfred, who made an encouraging gesture.

"Take your time. Don't rush it. I don't want a novel. I just want to hear your story." he gave Arthur a smile, hoping it would calm him.

Arthur took a deep breath and buried his face in his knees. After a time his lifted his head and began again.

"As you already know, I worked for the British government. It's a lot less Bond than they'd have you believe. I spent most of my career sifting through paper trails trying to find companies who were committing accounting fraud." Arthur chuckles but it isn't a happy sound "A glorified accountant, that's what I was."

Alfred must have expressed his disproval in some manner, because Arthur flinched before he continued.

"Regardless, I was very good at following money trails, which was how I was selected for the Tino assignment. Various international agencies had been aware of him for some time. He worked for the black market. Transporting things. He could find what buyers wanted and get it to them without raising any fuss. He was good, but he was small time. Law enforcement had bigger fish to fry."

"Then, about a year ago, things changed. Tino 'stepped up his game' I think the expression goes. He took on more jobs, lots of jobs. And he started transporting the types of things that definitely get one in trouble. It was decided that Tino had to be put out of business. But there were problems. Foremost was how to even find him. Tino was very good at not sticking around after a sale had been made. Which was unfortunate, because that was the only time we knew where to find him. Then there was the problem of actually arresting him. Tino was fond of doing his business in international waters or along borders or even in DMZs. The higher ups couldn't decide who had the authority to make the arrest, so they came up with their own 'brilliant' plan and put a team together." Arthur shook his head.

"It was a jurisdictional nightmare. They just threw a group of us together, in the hopes that our plethora of nationalities would allow them to slip through some legal loophole. It worked about as well as you might expect."

"Not at all?" Alfred asked. Arthur smiled humorlessly.

"No. Well, maybe it worked for the legal department. But for those of us actually chosen for the job, it was hell. No one got along. Some of us couldn't even speak the same language. Why someone thought this could work was beyond me. In the end, our team splintered into smaller groups who could actually tolerate each other. Each group worked mostly independently, only informing the rest of the team when they had relevant information to share, which didn't happen often. It went on like this for months with no results. When our breakthrough finally came, I was working with a Frenchman named Francis. He was- He was-" Arthur trailed off, eyes distant.

"He was a good agent." Arthur said softly. "He was insufferable, but he was a good agent. He didn't deserve-"

Arthur stopped again and exhaled slowly.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself again. One of our number had found out where Tino was going to be before he got there. A town named Skagen, at the very tip of Denmark's main peninsula. He was resting there before taking a boat out to sea. As I said, international waters, or at least open water, were one of his favorite locations to do business. We had figured we had a few days before he concluded his business and vanished again. What we hadn't planned for was being sent out there ourselves."

"Denmark during winter, if you hadn't already guessed, is really fucking cold. And the lot of us found ourselves shipped up there with almost no prior warning."

"You must have been a bunch of happy campers." Alfred commented.

Arthur snorted. "You have no idea. You should have heard some of the angry speeches these people came up with. Divas, all of them."

"We managed to make it to Denmark without Tino catching wind of us. That turned out to be the easy part. Our superiors were expecting us to capture Tino, so we managed to find some boats and some officials who were actually half competent at managing said boats and some police for backup. The plan was to sail out to Tino's ship, surround it, and arrest everyone inside."

"But when do things ever go according to plan?"

"We surrounded the boat unnoticed, and we thought we had disabled any means of escape. Things were going well, but as soon as we got inside, things went to hell."

"It turned into a shooting gallery. I- I can't remember the specifics. I remember the sound of it all more than anything. Gunshots everywhere, echoing off the walls of the ship. And the shouts. And the screaming. It-" Arthur shook his head clear of bad memories. "When it was over and the guns had quieted, Tino had disappeared leaving us with a ship full of the dead. Ours and theirs, scattered about like ragdolls. Among them was an INTERPOL agent named Berwald Oxenstierna."

"Berwald was Tino's man on the inside. He'd been feeding INTERPOL bad information so that Tino could keep slipping away. Berwald also helped Tino find and contract interested buyers. He was a vital part of the operation. But when we investigated him afterwards, we found he was more than a business associate to Tino."

Arthur turned and looked Alfred straight in the eye.

"He was Tino's lover."

Alfred remembered Berwald, the man in Tino's photographs. He remembered the look of raw emotion on Tino's face when he had talked about him.

Lovers...

Arthur drew a deep breath.

"And I was the one who killed him."

An expression of horror spread across Alfred's face as things slowly but surely began to add up.

"I don't remember doing it. But the bullet they pulled out of his chest matched my firearm, and you can't argue with that kind of evidence."

"Our mission was thought of as a disaster. The higher ups were eager to forget it had ever happened. Tino, however, was much less willing to let things go. As it turned out, he'd been making his latest business deals with a purpose. He was tired of living in the shadows, and was looking to start over somewhere else with Berwald. The job we interrupted was the last in a string that would pay for their new identities and assure the two got their happy ever after. And then we came along. Tino's bright future disappeared in a hectic shootout."

"It changed him, loosing Berwald. Before, he'd been pleasant, if unyielding when it came to his occupation. After- I don't know how to describe it. The man has gone feral, if such things are possible. He doesn't seem to care about anything or anyone anymore. Except, of course, for finding me and making sure I pay for what I did."

"I don't know how he traced the bullet back to me. The information should have been kept within the bureau, and his foremost informant was dead. But somehow he found out, and I became his most hated enemy. Not that I knew about this at first, I was still under the assumption that Tino would spend the rest of his life hiding in some wretched hole or another so he could avoid incarceration. I didn't find out about Tino's vendetta until at least a month after Skagen."

"I was supposed to be searching a warehouse. A company I was investigating claimed that goods were being stolen, and I was supposed to figure out if they were telling the truth or if they were selling these goods through less than legal channels for increased profits. The fact that they seemed to be making a profit despite the loss of product indicated the second option, but I needed more conclusive evidence. I should have requested backup, but my superiors were being spiteful after the Skagen thing, and I really just wanted to get the job over with."

"Francis- Francis wasn't supposed to be there. He wasn't even supposed to be in the country. But he had dual citizenship for some godforsaken reason and no one could stop him when he came over for 'personal reasons'. Sometimes I wonder if he didn't know something was up. There was no other reason he should have been there if he didn't have suspicions. But he didn't share them with me, and he invited himself along to that warehouse. I was glad for the company, though I found the man's personality grating."

"That I managed to get out of that warehouse alive was pure luck. Tino had rigged it to blow, and it exploded spectacularly not twenty minutes after we got there. I was by an emergency exit. Got blown clean through the door and out into the open. Francis wasn't so lucky. He'd been standing in the middle. The whole building came down on his head. He didn't deserve to die like that."

"I tried to get help, but it seems as if Tino made a contingency plan in the event of my survival. He planted evidence to suggest I had given away vital military information, sold it to other nations to be exact, and made the explosion look as though it was me getting rid of someone who knew too much. He made it look believable too. Skagen was on its way to destroying whatever career I'd hope to have. Embittered, I would have sought revenge by selling government secrets. Francis, who had been in contact with me, would have suspected something and come to confront me. I would then have led him to his doom. It was a believable story. So believable that when emergency crews finally showed they were more interested in arresting me than saving Francis."

"I can't be angry at them. I became more interested in saving my own worthless skin than Francis. I abandoned him, just when he needed me. I ran away. Like a coward. This whole thing is my fault. I thought I could do a good job. I thought I could fix things. I thought I could catch Tino. I was wrong. I ruined everything."

Arthur uncurled himself, and withdrew his pistol from his side. Alfred thought for one paralyzing moment that he was going to shoot himself, but then he tossed the gun onto the dirt between them.

"If you wanted to shoot me" Arthur whispered "I'd understand."

Alfred looked, horrified, between the gun and the agent and then his face softened.

"Arthur, no. How could you ever think I'd want to do something like that?"

"I ruined your life. You remind me often enough. Anyone who gets close to me winds up suffering, and it's always my fault."

"Arthur, you can't blame yourself for everything. Especially for something that never happened. Francis survived the explosion. Don't let a death that never happened haunt you for the rest of your life."

"Francis is alive?" asked Arthur in a small voice.

"Well, he's in a coma. But he's still alive, and one day he might recover. Besides, Francis sounds like he was a friend. I doubt he'd be blaming you for what happened to him. He was the one who chose to be there that night. It's not like you knew what was going to happen. Tino's off his rocker, and he's the one who should be held responsible. After all, he's the one who lured you there and set the charges. What happened to Francis wasn't your fault and- Dude, are you crying?"

"No!" said Arthur, but his exclamation was suspiciously watery. He rubbed his eyes a few times. Something seemed to occur to him then. "How do you know about Francis?"

Alfred froze.

"Well, you see- It- I- Uh-" he floundered. Arthur watched him, bewildered, and Alfred decided to just tell the truth.

"I sold you out." he admitted.

The punch to the face was neither unexpected nor unwarranted.

"How could you?" Arthur yelled. He towered over Alfred, having sprung to his feet in rage.

Alfred sighed and rubbed his now even sorer face, secretly glad Arthur hadn't hit his nose.

"It's not like you gave me much reason to trust you. You forced me to follow along with you at gunpoint. And you never explained yourself, hell you never really talked to me if there wasn't an opportunity to insult me. I didn't know what to think. Then Tino shows up and, while admittedly creepy, he did at least make an attempt to be nice to me. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I just wanted to get out and go home."

Arthur's eyes were angry, but underneath there was dull acceptance. The anger Alfred could deal with, could understand, but for Arthur to accept betrayal so willingly was beyond him. It was as if he expected it.

"No. Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"That forever alone thing. It's like you don't trust me because you think I'm just going to abandon you by the side of the road like a box of free kittens. Look, we fucked up. The both of us. Me especially. I realize that now. I was confused and angry, and scared. And I've spent so much of my life as a doormat, helping people who only ever walk all over me, that I really can't take it anymore. I was willing to listen to the words of a psychopath if it meant the crazy would stop. I put us both in danger. I admit it. But you're stupid if you think I'm just going to leave and not make an attempt at fixing the damage I've caused you. It's not a hero's style to leave a damsel in distress."

"I'm not a damsel." Arthur protested.

"No, you're not. And I'm not leaving. Not yet. Not until I've made it up to you."

He stood up to look at Arthur eyes to eye.

"We can get through this, but we need to trust each other. Let's make a deal. You stop being so closed off and angry, and I'll stop being a tool."

He held out his hand.

"Shake on it."

"You were right you know." said Arthur, looking at the offered palm. "I did mess up your life. I all but kidnapped you. I put your life in danger. Why would you be willing to forgive me?"

"I managed to forgive Hitler. I think I can give you another chance."

Arthur frowned, but Alfred continued.

"It's also because I believe there's something inside you worth believing in. And trust me; I know how corny that sounds."

"And why should I give you another chance?"

Alfred shrugged.

"I can't answer that. I already hurt you once. It's up to you to decide whether or not you think I'm worth the risk."

Arthur stared at Alfred for a long time before speaking.

"You betray me after that speech, and I'll shoot you." he warned.

"Fair enough." Alfred agreed.

Arthur cautiously shook Alfred's hand and immediately stepped back.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"Now? Now's the time to get the hell out of Dodge."

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together in irritation. "And where would you suggest we go?"

Alfred looked around them. Up at the cliff they had just tumbled down and then out at the undeveloped land that stretched out into the horizon. He hitched his bags back over his shoulder and stood up straight as he addressed Arthur.

"I have no idea." he announced. "But I'll know it when we get there."

He grabbed Arthur's hand, ignoring the ensuing curse words, and together the pair wandered blindly off into the sunset.

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><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>First, let me just say I love all of you, and I'm amazed that you thought this story good enough to get it past the 100 review mark.<strong>

**Next, I have to apologize for the late update. I was hoping to have this chapter done and uploaded last week. Unfortunately, that's when the heat wave happened. 100+ degree weather sucks. And as I don't have a fully functional fan, much less AC, my desire to do anything other than avoid heat stroke melted away faster than the Wicked Witch of the West in an Olympic sized swimming pool.**

**I think the ending still feels a bit rushed, but I thought you all deserved an update. If you agree with me, I can go back and edit.**

**Thank you very much for reading. I'll try to get the next chapter out ASAP.**

**Continue?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

**Edit: Ok. I don't know what's up, but the line breaks are freaking out on me. Hopefully, they work for you guys, but, if not, here's a heads up.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>[Chapter 11]<p>

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><p>"No." said Arthur in irritated disbelief. "There's no way."<p>

"And yet, here we are." Alfred countered.

Arthur scowled, but had nothing more to say as he trudged towards their destination, leaving Alfred jogging to catch up. Despite his aching shoulders and feet, he was feeling quite proud of his most recent accomplishment. In the dark of night, and without the aid of map or compass, Alfred had led Arthur through a wilderness of undeveloped land, a small marsh, and three cornfields and had successfully brought them to the glowing golden arches of the promised land.

The promised land here meaning McDonalds.

Arthur stopped outside the doors, still looking at Alfred with what the American liked to believe was shock and awe. He waited until Alfred had almost reached him before speaking again.

"You cheated. I don't know how, but you cheated. There's no way you could have led us here if you were really lost."

"I keep telling you," Alfred panted as he lumbered over to the Brit "It's a gift. I'm like a heat seeking missile when it comes to finding fast food joints."

"No. There is no way you could have done this. You have no gift. You have no talent. You certainly do not have a 'super power' as you called it a few minutes ago. At best, you have luck. Lots of luck. Stupid amounts of it. So, no. Just- Just-" he made some sort of enraged flailing gesture at McDonalds, Alfred, and the universe in general. "Just no."

Alfred ignored his protests and reached behind him, opening the door with a flourishing bow. "After you, good sir."

He received a dirty look for his efforts before his companion turned on his heel and stormed into the establishment. Alfred had to admit that Arthur knew how to make an entrance. Unfortunately, he was incapable of such a thing and was forced to do an awkward shuffle through the doors, rotating to make sure he and his various bags made it through. Success came only after he had gotten himself stuck twice. He found Arthur sitting in a corner booth, the small smirk on his face informing him that his performance had not gone unnoticed.

"Oh, shut up." he mumbled as he unloaded his bags. "I'll go order. What do you want?"

"As long as it comes with a drink, I really don't care."

"Alright. I'll be back. Don't steal my stuff."

Arthur was unfazed by the insinuation that he was a thief. They both knew that, given the chance, he would search through them and take whatever he thought would give him an edge. However, seeing as they had established a truce, he did nothing more than eye them curiously as Alfred walked up to the counter.

"Ok." he said, looking up at the numbered options. "I'll have a number two and a- Wait. Is it too early for burgers? Too late? What about pancakes? Do you have those? Can I order them?"

The cashier remained silent, looking at Alfred like he was the world's biggest idiot. Alfred just laughed at the nonsense of it all.

"You know what? I've got no idea what time it is, so we'll just take whatever it is that you've got to serve."

Eighteen minutes later, because the place had horrible service even taking into account the size of Alfred's order, he returned to Arthur burdened with overflowing trays.

"Soup's on." he announced as the trays hit the table with a dull thud. Arthur didn't even give the fast food his customary look of disapproval, instead he grabbed a wax paper wrapped offering and began gulping down weak and watery iced tea like his life depended on it.

At their table, the two scarfed down Egg McMuffins and hash browns, ignored by minimum wage workers. Alfred thought they would've gained more attention looking like the car crash victims they were. Then again, he'd worked nightshifts before and knew that these people had probably seen things more alarming than this.

Alfred wasn't sure if it was the missed meal or the near death experience or the trek through the wilderness, but he was ravenous. Once he'd started eating, he didn't stop or slow down until he'd grabbed one last fistful of too dry fries, lubricated them with liberal amounts of ketchup, and shoved them into his mouth to join the plethora of foodstuffs in his stomach. Only then did he sit back and look to Arthur, who had settled back in a similarly lazy fashion and was toying with balled up straw wrappers.

"I'm guessing we need to start running ASAP before Tino's men try to kill us again."

"Not necessarily." Arthur answered. "The wreckage will be left alone for a few days. It wouldn't do for them to be seen in a suspicious location like that. They'll wait until someone else discovers the wreck, and once they realize we're not there, then they'll come after us. However, seeing how infrequently that road is traveled and how hard it is to see the wreck from the top of the incline, we've probably got a few days until they start after us again."

"So their plan was to drive us off a cliff and then let us die trapped in the wreckage waiting for someone to come save us? That's messed up."

Arthur nodded in agreement, but said nothing more. Alfred shifted uneasily for a moment before speaking up again.

"So, what do we do now?"

"What do you think?"

"Hotel?" he guessed.

"Hotel." Arthur agreed and slid out of the booth.

Alfred sighed, but collected his things and prepared to head back out into the night.

* * *

><p>The good thing about cheap motels is that they were everywhere, and soon Alfred was standing in a worn out room that looked much the same as any of the ones he'd occupied since he'd picked up Arthur off the side of the road. It was sad how familiar these places were becoming.<p>

"Are you getting first shower or-" he turned to find the bathroom door clicking shut. "Am I?" he finished with a sigh.

As the water started up, Alfred dropped his bags and began to search through one of the duffels for his laptop. He'd shelled out the money for Wi-Fi, figuring that if he was going to stop being a tool, like he'd promised, he should start helping. And the only skillset he possessed that might be of any use required internet access. So it was time to bring out his precious monstrosity.

Alfred referred to his laptop as a monstrosity because it looked like something Frankenstein would have made had the good doctor had been into assembling computers instead of running electricity through stolen bits of corpses. Alfred had made it himself from ragtag bits of electronics. It was as ugly as sin, but it ran better than most things currently on the market. He was proud of his achievement, and had made it a sort of hobby to build and rebuild his monstrosity thereby keeping it the most well-oiled machine out there. Which would explain why it was nestled in a duffle bag filled with loose computer parts.

He pulled it from its resting place, scattering wires and sending an old hard drive tumbling to the floor as he did so. Once it had been set on a side table and plugged in to charge, Alfred gave it an affectionate pat and knelt down to pick up the odds and ends he'd dislodged. He was in the process of standing up when he paused, knelt back down, and pulled out Hitler's remains from their resting place. He dug out a screwdriver as well and settled himself on the floor. Arthur wouldn't be done for a little while yet, and there was no sense in letting good parts go to waste. Humming softly, he set about cannibalizing Hitler.

There wasn't much hope for usable material, it had been shot after all. But, Alfred noted with a frown, the bullet hadn't made it all the way through. There was a hole in the front screen, but no exit hole made in the back casing. Alfred turned Hitler around in his hands, puzzled. Hitler was made of cheap plastic; it shouldn't have been able to stop a bullet. Especially not at close range. How, then, had it survived?

One way to find out.

He pried the casing open to find a shattered screen and obliterated silicon, nothing out of the ordinary. But there, nestled in the back, was something definitely unusual. A slim black box had been awkwardly wired into the surrounding electronics. It looked like a rush job, and whatever the black box was, it didn't look like it belonged.

Alfred undid the wiring and teased it out. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. Its black casing was dense, dense enough, he noted, to stop a bullet. There was a dimple dead center on one side where the bullet had impacted and bounced off. He slowly ran his thumb across the mark.

"I'm guessing you don't come standard." he murmured.

He rotated it and found ports on the slim side, but before he could think of what they were meant to connect to, Arthur reentered the room looking much less dirty than when he had left.

The agent looked down at him where he sat surrounded by ruined electronics. "What are you doing?"

Alfred hurriedly stuffed the Hitler bits back into the bag before Arthur could shoot it again.

"Nothing!" he answered.

Arthur wasn't listening. He was staring at Alfred's laptop. "What is that thing?"

"Hey, don't judge by appearances. It's beautiful on the inside." Alfred protested at the slight against his monstrous baby. Yes, he'd glued the casing together so the innards could rest comfortably, but that was no reason to look repulsed.

He would have gone into a speech about not judging a book by its cover and why exactly the monstrosity was not to be mocked, but looking up he could make out the jagged line of a cut on Arthur's forehead. Speeches could wait, Arthur needed medical attention.

"Hang on." he said standing up and nearly tripping over his own feet "I've got something for that."

He plucked the backpack from where it lay on one of the duffels and tossed it to Arthur. Arthur caught it with an 'oomph', not expecting the weight.

"There's a first aid kit in there somewhere. Do you want help or-" Arthur gave him a look "Right. No touchie."

Alfred gathered some clothes as Arthur sat on one of the beds and searched the backpack. He pulled out a box of waterproof matches, a jar of peanut butter, a coil of rope, and a small tarp before looking back to Alfred.

"Not that I'm complaining, some of this stuff is dead useful, but why did you have it in the back of your car?"

"Oh, that." Alfred shrugged. "Zombie plan."

Arthur looked at him, nearly at a loss for words. "And what, pray tell, is a 'zombie plan'?"

"You know, it's a contingency plan for what you should do if the zombie apocalypse comes to pass. I like to keep a stash of emergency supplies nearby just in case. You know, medical supplies, food, that kind of stuff."

Arthur hefted an iron crowbar from the bag and raised one gigantic eyebrow at him.

"Gotta have something to bash in zombie skulls in." Alfred responded to the unanswered question. "It'll be also good for breaking into places when I scavenge the burned out husks of cities for food. Besides, it's easier to explain to pre-apocalypse law enforcement than a gun."

Arthur chose not to respond to that and pulled the first aid kit out from under other assorted zombie supplies.

"It's got those Band-Aids you can use for stitches, so you can put some on your head. I also put some pain pills in there if you want them."

Arthur pulled out the bottle immediately, so Alfred took that as a yes.

"Take one with lots of water. Two if you're in a lot of pain."

Arthur shook three out into his hand, knocked them back, and swallowed them dry.

"Or you could do that. Yeah. They make you drowsy, so watch out for that. I'm taking my shower now. Try not to OD before I get back."

* * *

><p>The bathroom interior had been less horrific than some of the places he'd been and the towels had been something close to fluffy so Alfred was in a good mood when he returned to the main room. All the dirt was gone and not even the discovery of exactly how bruised his shoulder was could ruin the joy of being clean again. Alfred cast his gaze around the room to see where Arthur had gone and suddenly understood why Arthur never fell asleep around him.<p>

A sleeping Arthur was a fucking adorable Arthur.

He'd bundled himself into a little nest of covers and his hair was puffed out against his pillow. His mouth was ajar, but instead of drooling he just made soft breathing sounds. The lack of grumpy expression made him look younger.

Alfred had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing or making other noises at Arthur's cuteness that would probably get him shot if the agent woke up to hear him.

Who knew that mister badass agent looked about as threatening as a toddler while snoozing? No wonder he'd never let Alfred see him asleep. It kind of ruined his whole image.

Alfred allowed himself one soft chuckle before tiptoeing over to his monstrosity and turning it on. It started up with a slight whirr and then gave a cheerful little ping to inform him that it was ready to go. He rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly, and cracked his knuckles, settling in for what was sure to be several long hours of searching.

Time to get to work.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Zombie plans.<strong>

**You should have them.**

**Continue?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 12]<p>

* * *

><p>When Alfred wandered back into the hotel room around noon, Arthur was awake and glaring at him balefully.<p>

"And where have you been?"

"Out." Alfred said with a shrug and kicked the door closed behind him. "Had some errands to run."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I tried. You went ninja on me."

"I most certainly did not!"

Despite Arthur's protests, he had indeed 'gone ninja' on Alfred. Upon attempting to shake Arthur awake earlier that morning to inform him where he was going, Alfred had found himself suddenly and painfully pinned to the floor. He'd spent the better part of five minutes convincing the spy that he hadn't been trying to kill him. And Arthur hadn't even been awake enough to remember it, apparently.

"Dude, you totally did! Check it!" Alfred pulled up his shirt revealing light bruises smudged across what a few weeks ago had been some sweet six pack abs. Alfred spent a minute mourning the loss of his muscle mass and fearfully thinking of the hours he'd have to spend in the gym to get them back. Arthur spent the time staring at Alfred's abdomen with an odd expression on his face.

"Yes. Well. I apologize. But you should have left a note or something to that effect. And would you please put your shirt back on?"

"I did leave you a note." Alfred protested, tugging his shirt back down. "It was on the table for you."

Arthur looked over and found that there was a folded piece of paper awaiting him. After a moment's examination, he looked back at Alfred looking annoyed.

"Did you really spell my name with a 'W'?"

"What? No! That's a 'U'."

"How was I supposed to divine anything from your chicken scratch? Where did you learn to spell?"

Alfred sighed, used to Arthur's combative ways. "Look, I know you like arguing, but we can do this later? Why don't we load up the car and get out of here first?"

"Car?" Arthur asked, anger having been successfully derailed. "What car?"

"Well, if you'd bothered to read my note, you'd know that while you were in snoozeville, I managed to track us down a car."

"Where on Earth did you find a car?"

"Internet."

Arthur gaped for a moment. "How?"

"Well, there was this guy on one of the forums who was complaining about this car he'd one in a game of poker. Didn't want it. Didn't need it. Couldn't seem to get rid of it. I traced his IP address, and I saw he was nearby, so I shot off an email asking about the car. He was willing to hand it over no questions asked, so I swung by to discuss the price. Turns out, he'd give it to me in exchange for the motherboard of a Dell Inspiron 6000, a PCI-X graphics card, and one of the fiddly bits from a Commodore 64. Didn't want cash or anything, just computer parts."

"And you just happened to have all this stuff."

"Well, no. I mean, I had the motherboard, but the rest was sort of improvised. I haggled him down from a PCI-X to a PCIe and instead of handing over C64 parts, which are uber rare I might add, I fixed his cable."

"Couldn't he have just gotten his cable company to do that for him?"

"If he'd actually been paying for his cable, I'm sure he could have."

"Ah." Arthur said in understanding.

"So, wanna get out of here?" Alfred gestured to the door.

"Give me a minute." Arthur replied, and gathered his few belongings before following Alfred out the door.

They wandered outside, and Arthur was able to confirm that Alfred had indeed acquired a car. Not that it was much of a car. It was if someone had taken a car on the same tier of crappyness of Alfred's last car, decided they didn't like the look of it, and gone at it with a nine iron. There was also lots of tape involved, but, unlike the dents, that probably hadn't been done for artistic effect. The interior was in much better shape with the exception of the right side of the back seat, which had at some point incurred the wrath of a host of angry cats. A multitude of scratches had split it open, spilling stuffing everywhere. They tried to bypass the issue and throw their things in the trunk, only to discover it was already occupied.

The trunk contained a roll of black plastic trash bags, piles of duct tape, and an ammo box that claimed to contain several hundred rounds of 5.56 MM ammo but turned out to be full of glow sticks. The duct tape was presumably for repairs. What these items might be for, they had no idea. In the end they used the tape to fix the seat and stored their gear there, ignoring the other questionable objects left by the previous owner. Possessions stowed, Alfred climbed into the driver's seat and Arthur slid in next to him.

"You failed to mention this thing had manual transmission."

"Don't worry!" Alfred patted the clutch. "I know how to work one of these!"

Arthur looked from Alfred to his hand and back, then gave Alfred another extremely odd look.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. Just get going." he buckled himself in. "Remember, we've managed to buy ourselves some time, but Tino will eventually come looking after us. We have to be smart about this. We're going to need to keep moving and stay away from populated areas. It will make us far too easy to spot."

"Dude, we're in Iowa." Alfred laughed and started up the car. "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

* * *

><p>"So, if you could be a tree, what type of tree would you be?"<p>

Arthur groaned and leaned back against his seat. "If you're going to ask me all these questions, could you at least make them less nonsensical?"

"Come on, you agreed to this."

Shortly after starting off in their new ride, Alfred had suggested they get to know each other and Arthur had reluctantly agreed to some icebreaker questions. So far, Arthur had been asked everything from "What is your favorite color?" to "If you were to have a limb eaten by a shark, which limb would you prefer to lose?" and was running out of patience with the odd queries Alfred was coming up with.

"Yes, but I was under the delusion that you'd actually be asking practical questions."

"Hey! I stand by my statement that you can tell a lot about a person based on what limb they'd offer up to a famished cartilaginous fish!"

"Alfred. Ask me something else."

"Ok, tell me something embarrassing you used to do as a kid."

Arthur sighed. "I used to look for fairies in the woods outside my mum's place."

Alfred burst out laughing. "Fairies! Seriously?"

Arthur immediately broke out the scowl Alfred was so used to. "Oh shut up!"

Alfred chuckled again, and then attempted to pacify his companion. "It's ok that you believed in fairies. I used to spend my nights looking for aliens. It was part of the reason I decided to work for NASA, actually."

"You worked for NASA?"

"Well, I interned at NASA. They cut a lot of people loose when they stopped sending people into space, so I didn't get a chance to get a full time job there. But anyway, back when I was a kid I spent my nights in my tree house looking up at the sky. Did you have a tree house?"

"No, I never had a tree house. I had a condemned fishing boat, though."

"A what?"

"A condemned fishing boat. When I was young, I used to spend my summers at my aunt's. She lived in what used to be a fishing village, but the industry had dried up, so there were all these abandoned or condemned fishing boats that had be pulled up above the waterline and left there. I used to play in them. There was one I liked more than the others, I think it was called the 'Britannia Angel', it was hard to tell with the paint peeling."

"Did you look for sea fairies, or mermaids, or something?"

"No, I-" Arthur flushed "I pretended I was a pirate captain."

Alfred grinned. "Captain Kirkland, eh? I like the sound of that. You were probably the cutest pirate on the seven seas. Hey! What have I told you about throwing things at me while I'm driving? Alright! Next question. If you were to get a tattoo, what would it be and where?"

Instead of giving some answer dedicated to how improper they were and how only punks would get tattoos, Arthur went an impressive shade of red and refused to say anything.

"Dude!" Alfred exclaimed.

Arthur still refrained from speaking. Taking Arthur's silence as an admission, Alfred continued.

"Dude, you didn't! Seriously! I didn't think you had it in you! So, what is it? Fairy? Jolly Rodger?"

"Ask another question." Arthur growled, still bright red.

"Ok, ok, don't bite my head off. What is your favorite thing to eat with ice cream?"

Arthur answered cake and Alfred answered fries. Arthur called Alfred a pig and Alfred just laughed and asked about Arthur's favorite cereal box character. They continued trading questions, Alfred learning about Arthur's failed attempt at starting a rock band and Arthur learning about one embarrassing summer Alfred had spent on his grandparent's farm, and by the end of the afternoon the two of them were starting to look like something resembling friends.

* * *

><p>Dinner had been some disappointing sandwiches, and Alfred was soon discovering that he had consumed neither enough caffeine nor food to keep going at their usual pace. After about the third time he'd zoned out, Alfred pulled over and called it quits.<p>

"I need to stop or I'm going to flip this car and save Tino a whole lot of trouble."

"Alright, move over."

"You good to drive? Do you even know how? Last time I asked, you gave me a list of reasons why I had to be the one to drive."

"I think you'll find that circumstances have over ridden whatever reasons I might have given you for not driving. Tino has tried to kill us at least once already. I'm not going to give him another chance. Also, I'd like to sleep in a bed instead of the backseat. And I'll have you know that I can drive perfectly well."

"Do you know how to drive a stick?" Alfred asked.

"Of course I do, now move over." The two switched seats and Arthur took the wheel.

Five minutes later they were pushing the car back on the road from the ditch Arthur had driven it into.

"You can't drive stick, can you Arthur?" Alfred grunted.

"No I cannot." Arthur admitted. "Now shut up and push."

They got the car back on the road, and checked it for damage. There didn't seem to be any. Well, at least any damage that hadn't been preexisting.

"Sorry Arthur." Alfred said, dusting off his hands. "Looks like you'll be sleeping in the backseat after all."

"What? Why?"

"If I have to drive anymore, I'm going to land us in a ditch. And you- Well, you've already landed us in a ditch. Help me search my things; I think I've got some road flares. We should set them up in case someone comes along, don't want them to hit us."

They didn't have road flares, but they did have glow sticks and tape. Arthur dubbed the result the stupidest thing he'd ever seen. Alfred was of a different opinion.

"I dub thee 'Rave Car'! Party on, good traveler! Party on!" he declared, waving his arms enthusiastically. Arthur merely sighed.

"If we're going to be sleeping out here, can we get on with it?"

"Sure. Here you go." Alfred tossed Arthur a blanket.

"You turning in?"

"Nah. I'm gonna stay out here a bit longer."

"Do what you will." said Arthur and climbed into the backseat, closing the door behind him.

"Night."

Alfred spread his blanket across the hood of the car and settled back against the windshield, moving the wipers to get comfortable and raising his gaze skyward. Eventually, Arthur climbed up on the hood with him.

"What are you doing?"

"I always liked looking at the stars. A lot of people don't pay much attention to them these days, some can't even see them with the light pollution and all, but I've always liked looking at them. Ancient sailors and stuff used to navigate by them. I'm not very good at directions-" here Arthur snorted which prompted an elbow jab from Alfred "and I get lost a lot. I can't read maps well, and I was a miserable failure in Boy Scouts whenever we did things with a compass. But for some reason whenever the stars come out, I've always been able to find north."

Alfred lifted his arm and pointed up at the sky. "You see that there, that bright one? That's Polaris. The North Star."

"You're not making this up, are you?"

"No! You see that over there? That's the Big Dipper." Alfred began to move his finger through the air, tracing the constellation and naming the stars as he went. "Alkaid. The across to Mizar, I think it's called. Not sure. Then Alioth. Megrez. Down to Phecda. Over to Merak. Up to Dubhe. Those last two are important, cause if you start at Merak and draw a line to Dubhe and keeping following that line, you wind up at Polaris."

"How do you know all this?"

"I interned at NASA, remember? I learned star names in self-defense."

Arthur made an interested noise and leaned back against the windshield, his shoulder a few inches away from Alfred.

"You know, a lot of people think the Big Dipper is Ursa Major, but actually it's only part of it. Ursa Major is a bigger constellation. The Big Dipper is just the bear's tail. That's its head over there, and that's its front legs, and that's one back paw and - where are they- there's the other back paw."

"Do you know where it got its name?"

"Yeah. Some Greek myth. A lady got turned into a bear, or something."

"Callisto. She was a nymph who attracted the affections of Zeus, so the ever jealous Hera turned her into a bear. She wandered lonely through the forest, until one day she happened upon her son. Overjoyed, she ran forward to embrace him, but her son saw only a charging bear and prepared to shoot her. Zeus, however, saw what was about to happen and turned her son into a bear as well. He's the constellation Ursa minor."

"Huh."

"I've always thought the story very sad. Callisto only wanted to express her love, but found herself the target of violence for something she couldn't control." Arthur said, his voice soft and sad.

Alfred didn't know how to respond to that and lay there quietly until Arthur pointed up at the sky and asked about another star.

"Which constellation's that?"

"That? I think that's Draco." he said, finger tracing a squiggly line. "Fourteen stars. Its head is there, and then it sort of loops on itself. Does it have a story too?"

"Yes. It was a Titan, defeated and thrown into the sky by the goddess Minerva. It twisted upon itself and froze before it could get its coils untangled."

They stayed like that for some time, exchanging constellation for myth until they both drifted off to sleep, shoulder to shoulder, on the hood of a pseudo-stolen car.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>The ammo box full of glow sticks actually exists. It was found while cleaning out a basement. A satisfactory explanation as to how it came to be there does not yet exist.<strong>

**School's started again, and it's draining my creative juices like nobody's business. Hence the late update. But please don't think I've stopped writing.**

**I tried writing fluff, but it's been a while and I'm rusty. Let me know how high you want me to try and crank it up. Your fluff, dear readers, is long overdue. I will try my best to get it to you in a timely fashion.**

**Continue?**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 13]<p>

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up at a quarter to dawn and immediately discovered that, at some point during the night, Arthur had decided he wanted cuddle. Unable to decide whether he wanted to be big spoon or little spoon, Arthur had settled for sprawling himself across Alfred's torso in an ungainly collection of limbs. Following this discovery was the stillest, most silent panic attack Alfred had ever had. He was being cuddled by someone who would respond in a ninja-esque fashion should he move. And he doubted that asphalt would be as forgiving as hotel carpeting.<p>

So Alfred stayed stock still and freaked the fuck out while Arthur made sleepy noises against his clavicle. Not the best of plans as Arthur's sleepy noises became grumbles, presumably in response to Alfred's rigidness.

Alfred forced a couple of deep breaths and managed to relax. His unwanted cuddling companion wrapped his arms around him like he was an oversized teddy bear and nuzzled his nose against Alfred's collarbone.

Arthur was going to kill him. Arthur was going to wake up, and then he was going to kill him. Alfred was going to be road kill. He was going to be worse than road kill. They were going to have to scrape him off the concrete with a spatula-

Arthur whimpered.

It took Alfred a minute to realize that it had been Arthur rather than some small animal passing by, because this was Arthur. Arthur didn't whimper. Arthur yelled, and scoffed, and kicked ass when the occasion called for it.

Yet, here he was, making vulnerable noises and gripping Alfred ever tighter as though he was going to slip away. Alfred winced as nails dug into his sides.

"Arthur? Hey, Arthur. Wake up. You're dreaming."

Arthur jolted and pulled himself upright, mumbling something incoherent. Alfred hesitated and then awkwardly wrapped his arms around Arthur, dragging him back down to his chest and rubbing slow circles onto the panicked man's back.

"Hey, easy there. Easy. It's ok. You're ok. Just breathe. You're fine. You awake?"

More incoherent mumbling. That was a no.

"Come on. You're safe. No evil spies or whatever. Just me. Just Alfred."

Arthur relaxed, becoming a warm heavy weight on Alfred's chest. The mumbling didn't stop, so Alfred just kept crooning calming nonsense until Arthur quieted and his breathing evened out. Alfred kept running his hand up and down Arthur's spine long after the man had gone back to sleep.

So, on a positive note, it didn't look like he was going to be tossed into the air by an irritated agent. On the other hand, he now had the aforementioned agent snoring, definitely snoring, on his chest. And they had their arms wrapped around each other. It was strangely comfortable.

Alfred didn't chose to dwell on that, instead noting how odd his life had become and wondering where it might be going until eventually his breath steadied to match Arthur's and he slipped off once more into dreamland.

Dawn found them spooning on the hood of a beat up car decorated with dying glow sticks. The sun rose without comment and the two slept on.

An hour or so later, Alfred got thrown off the hood of the car anyway. Not through any ill intentions on Arthur's part, but because tractor trailers make quite a bit of noise as they roll past. Arthur had simply obeyed the ingrained response to get the hell away from whatever was barreling towards them. Unfortunately, as they were still sleepily entwined, Alfred had been brought along for the ride. The two of them landed with a thud on the relatively forgiving dirt instead of the dreaded asphalt.

Arthur rolled off Alfred almost immediately after they hit the ground, diving for cover and greeting the day with an angry cry of "Motherfucker!"

Alfred dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and wondered if he was going to have to convince Arthur not to start shooting things.

* * *

><p>Arthur had refused diners or fast food as a breakfast option, so Alfred had improvised. There'd been an organic food store not too far down the road and Alfred had purchased a bag full of oranges. The two of them peeled and ate their fill on the curb near Alfred's sloppy parking job, while Alfred sipped hesitantly at free trade coffee and Arthur cursed softly as he tried to fish a teabag out of some exotic herbal blend.<p>

If Arthur remembered what had happened that morning, he was choosing not to comment. Alfred stuffed a quarter of an orange in his mouth, feeling oddly relieved. Arthur finally succeeded in removing the errant teabag and tossed it out into the street. He turned to Alfred, only to find him grinning like an idiot, lips pulled back in an orange peel smile. The Brit managed to look singularly unimpressed for a moment, before the expression crumpled and he chuckled in amusement.

Alfred pumped his fists in victory. In retaliation, Arthur threw an orange at him.

"Hey!" Alfred said, or tried to say. He spat out the orange peel and tried again. "What was that for?"

"You know."

"Come on, it's fun! I used to do it all the time when I played soccer back in grade school. We used to pretend they were mouth guards."

"Oh, so you played proper football then?"

"For a while, yeah. Then I realized that football, American football, is clearly the superior sport."

Arthur threw another orange at him. Alfred caught it one-handed.

"Aw, yeah! Who's the man?"

Arthur scoffed into his tea. Alfred figured he was probably just jealous.

"So, I've been thinking."

"God forbid." Arthur drawled, failing to hide his smile in the rim of his cup.

Alfred tossed the orange back. It went wide and tumbled into the gutter. Neither of them made any attempt to retrieve it. Thanks to a pushy saleswoman, Alfred had bought more oranges than they could hope to eat in one sitting.

"I don't know where you've been checking for info on Tino, but I've thought of a few places I could try. If you think you need the help."

"You have access to something better than my spy network?"

"Not saying I'm better than whoever you've been talking to, but I could probably hustle something up if you gave me enough time and a net connection."

"Are you suggesting hacking?" Arthur hissed.

"Yeah." Alfred said with a shrug. It's not like he'd never done it before, but perhaps he shouldn't mention that while Arthur was glaring at him.

"Are you mad? Do you know how much trouble you could land yourself in?"

"Please, I know what I'm doing. And most hackers don't get sent to jail, not real jail anyway."

"Real jail?" came Arthur's incredulous reply "Is there a fake jail?"

"Well, there's Monopoly jail."

"Yes." Arthur deadpanned. "Monopoly jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars."

"I've always wondered about 'Go'." Alfred mused "Everything else in Monopoly sort of makes sense in a real world context, but it's not like everyone gets a wad of money every so often. Well, some people do, but it's not like-"

"Alfred!" Arthur snaped "Focus!"

"What? You can't tell me you've never wondered about that."

"Alfred, I've never wondered about that."

Alfred pouted. "I'm only trying to help."

Arthur started and lowered his eyes to the cup in his lap. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, I really don't. But I don't want to see you dragged into this."

"Dude. I got run off a cliff by a bunch of angry mooks. Little late for that."

Arthur looked supremely guilty, and Alfred scrambled to say something meaningful. He didn't get the chance.

"I know. We have a pact. You agreed to this, but I- I don't think I could take it if someone else important to me got hurt. Just be careful, alright?"

Alfred gave a short determined nod, eyes never leaving Arthur's.

"I suppose there's no talking you out of this. Right then." Arthur knocked back the last of his tea "Let's go find you some Wi-Fi."

* * *

><p>Wi-Fi came from a deli with horribly scuffed floors that didn't care what they did so long as they purchased something every two hours and kept up the illusion that the place was doing a good business. The seats were comfortable and the connection speed was decent. They settled in.<p>

"So what am I looking for?"

Arthur dug through his papers and brought out a paper clipped section.

"Most of the information I've been able to gather recently has been financial. He's been using the funds set aside for his new identity for a different cause. I still don't know what it is. Lots of payoffs to people. Bribing shipping companies. He's got people on his payroll, and he's moving something somewhere. Finer details are proving harder to come by."

Alfred took the documents. "Well, it's a start. Go buy something so they don't kick us out. Hopefully I'll have something before we need to buy another one."

Arthur nodded and slid out to address the sleepy man at the counter. Alfred rummaged through his duffle for his Frankenstein's monster of a laptop. It tumbled out along with the strange part from his deceased GPS.

Alfred turned the black box around in his hands, pondering what it could be. But the only way he could find out was to retrofit his laptop and combine it with Hitler's parts. This wasn't a viable option. He needed it for other purposes, and there was no guarantee that electronic jury-rigging would actually work.

Besides, making Franken-Hitler just seemed like a bad idea.

He tucked it away as Arthur came back with a sandwich made of meat and cheese piled high on bread colored an odd shade of grey. The look on his face suggested that he clearly would not have purchased anything from this place if they hadn't had to worry about being kicked out for loitering. He placed it in front of Alfred, correctly concluding that the man would eat just about anything, suspect bread or not. Alfred cracked his knuckles and got to work.

Three sandwiches later he actually had something.

"Hey, Arthur."

Arthur jerked back to reality. Having had nothing to so for the past eight hours, he had begun watching whatever daytime television was being broadcast from the TV on the deli counter, and had been slipping in and out of the same comatose state the deli employee had been rendered nearly brain dead by.

"Wha-?"

"Think I found something."

Arthur was immediately on alert. "What have you got?"

"At some point during the last couple of months, Tino rented space on a server. It's like a storage unit, only for electronic files. His account is no longer active, so the company dumped whatever might have been stored there. But, I got to thinking. Sometimes services like this hang onto information longer than they need to, just in case the feds come a calling. Turns out they did exactly that. I called up their last backup, and it turns out there was some stuff still there. Tino seems to have taken down everything useful, but I did find this. Seems to be a list of names. Don't know what it's for, but I thought you should take a look."

Arthur frowned and leaned forward, scanning the document.

"Do you recognize any of these people?"

"Well," Alfred scrolled to the middle of the list, "I recognized those two names immediately. See the two under that Von Bock guy? I attended a seminar on programming a few years back, and they were the ones running it. Those five over here? True blue code monkeys. They're kind of like urban legends in the programming world. This man- no sorry, not Lili Z-whatever, the name across- this man is an aeronautical engineer. I heard about him at NASA. Supposed to be very good at what he does. There are a couple other names that are sort of familiar, but I can't say for certain that I know them. Most everyone I think I recognize does something with computers."

Arthur had pulled out a notepad and was furiously copying names, along with Alfred's commentary.

"Any idea what Tino might want with these people?" he asked.

"I've got no idea. You think it has something to do with that SATS thing you were talking about?"

"Maybe. Those three-" Arthur tapped the screen with his pencil "were involved with the original project. But, if Tino managed to convince them to work for him, he wouldn't need so many others. They knew enough about the project that they probably would have been able to come up with some sort of duplicate with just a small team of additional workers. Maybe if he were trying to reproduce the exact infrastructure he'd need this many people, but, again, he has members from the original project. Not to mention his contacts. He shouldn't need workers on this scale. Assuming he's even using these people as workers. For all we know, these are people he's ordered hits on."

Arthur sat back down in his chair with a frustrated grunt.

"Two steps forward, one step back?" Alfred offered. Arthur only made another frustrated noise and leaned all the way back in his seat, letting his head loll back.

"God, I need a drink." he groaned.

Alfred shut his laptop's lid with a snap and reached for his keys. "That can be arranged."

* * *

><p>The establishment was part biker bar, part truck stop, all roadside monstrosity. Wafting out onto the parking lot was the stench of bodily fluids and alcohol and there was little doubt as to where it was wafting from. Alfred didn't think he'd ever seen a place that screamed 'come here to get shitfaced' quite so loudly. At least not without a neon sign perched outside proclaiming that it was half-priced Jager night.<p>

Alfred slammed his door shut, hoping it wouldn't attract the attention of the biker gang gathered by the door. They were leaning against their cycles, roughhousing and making friendly catcalls at the waitress who had come outside to serve them. One of them reached out to cop a feel as she passed out beer bottles, only to be slapped by one of his fellows.

"Watch your hands." the biker chuckled "That's Lars' sister, look don't touch."

The one Alfred guessed was Lars was a large man with blonde hair who had decided, for whatever reason, to slick his bangs almost straight up. He and the waitress were exchanging soft words and she gave him a pat on the shoulder before sauntering back to the bar. Alfred and Arthur skirted the bikers and followed her inside.

The inside smelt much the same as the outside, only it substituted grease and body odor for the faint smell of motor oil that had lingered in the parking lot. Most of the customers were middle aged men whose frames were heavy with muscle or fat or both. Some sat hunched over their drinks and others were slurring stories to each other with wide grins and loud voices.

Arthur waded through the room with an air of confidence, broadcasting the intent to knock back at least half a dozen glasses before calling it quits. Alfred slinked after him, desperately trying not to bump into anyone and thinking fondly of the establishments he used to visit, places where ordering fruity drinks wouldn't get you sucker punched.

Arthur sat down on a chair in the back like he owned the place, pulling a bowl of suspect peanuts towards him. Alfred sat down slowly, wincing when he was finally situated. His seat was every bit as sticky as he had feared it would be.

"Am I ordering then?"

Arthur cracked a peanut in his fist, tossing the edible bits into his mouth and the shells on the floor. "Yours is the face we don't have to worry about anyone recognizing."

"What am I getting you?"

"Rum."

"Rum and what?"

"Just rum."

"Alrighty then." Alfred practically shot out of his seat, incredibly happy to no longer be in contact with the surface of his chair.

The bar had six stools in front of it, only four of which were occupied, and only one occupant who wasn't face down on the counter. The man didn't look too far away from joining his companions. The waitress who had been outside with the bikers was fiddling with glasses behind the bar. She looked nice enough, with shoulder length blonde hair decorated with a red ribbon. She gave him a smile when she saw him approach.

"Well, hello." she crooned, dragging her eyes across his figure "Don't think I've seen you before. Name's Bella."

"Hey." Alfred replied awkwardly. He'd never really gotten the hang of the 'pick up people in bars' thing. "Never been here before. My friend and I are just passing through."

"And what can I do for you?"

"Um, well, my friend would like rum? Please?"

She giggled. "So polite. And my question was what I could get _you_."

"Nothing tonight. Designated driver." he stuttered. He really did need to make sure they didn't wind up in a ditch. Again. The fumes in this place were making him tipsy enough as it was.

"Alright, but if you change your mind-" she trailed off, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"No just the rum. I need to get my friend home safely. I promised him a drink, he's been pretty stressed lately, and I think he could use some down time."

Bella studied him for a moment and then her expression switched to one of surprised understanding. "Oh! Oh, gosh! I'm sorry, I hadn't realized."

She poured out Arthur's drink and handed it over. "I wouldn't have been so forward if I'd known, but you were sweet not to flat out turn me down. You two have fun with your 'down time.'" She winked as she said 'down time,' like they were sharing a secret.

Alfred took the glass and stammered some confused thanks. What was that about? Whatever. At least Arthur had his drink. Alfred hadn't even needed to pay for it.

He avoided drunken flailing from the happier drunks and eye contact with the angrier ones, and had almost made it back to the table when he noticed Arthur had company. Unwanted company, if Arthur's stiff posture was anything to go by. The man was tall and had a shock of blonde hair that stuck out in all directions. He looked like nothing more than a happy drunk. Arthur was probably trying not to snap at the man. Alfred sighed and kept moving forward, preparing to shoo the man away before he got punched, when the man made a little gesture and Arthur's eyes followed, tight with some emotion. Alfred glanced down to see what they we looking at-

Alfred's whole body seized up. He'd seen enough real guns lately to know that was the genuine article being pointed at Arthur under a chipped barroom table.

Could they never catch a break?

"How did you find me, Mathias?" Arthur was asking, barely audible over the ambient noise.

The man grinned lazily. "Would you believe it was dumb luck? Was sweeping the grid where we thought you might be, stopped for a drink, and presto! Here you are! Tino will be very pleased. You've been quite the little nuisance."

Alfred backed up slowly. One of Tino's henchmen was here. He had a gun. He had Arthur. Alfred wasn't even aware he'd backtracked to the bar until Bella cautiously tapped his shoulder. He startled, sloshing rum everywhere.

"Hey, you alright?" One look at his face told her he was not alright, and she began scanning the bar for trouble. She must have been better at spotting it than Alfred, because she frowned and stalked off towards Arthur's table almost immediately. She clearly intended to ask him to leave, but, after a moment, her posture stiffened and, when Mathias motioned for her to sit down, she sat, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Arthur.

What had he done? He'd just sent some poor girl to her doom. He should be the one sitting next to Arthur being held at gun point. He- He-

He had a plan.

Not stopping to think, he dropped the glass and bolted outside. The biker gang was still there, still as rowdy as they'd been when Alfred had first pulled up.

"Hey!" he shouted, not even having to fake the panic in his voice "Somebody go for help! They've got Bella at gunpoint!"

The gang went silent. Lars stood up, pulling out a metal pipe around which was wrapped, of all things, a rabbit charm and headed towards the door. The rest of the gang pulled out their own menagerie of weapons and bolted after their leader, storming the bar like some sort of strange studded leather cavalry. Half a beat later, the unmistakable sound of a bar fight started up.

Dear God, this might actually work.

Alfred ran back in to discover chaos. Every man in the place had decided to fight, and now the room was a whirlwind of fists and curses. Alfred entered the fray, sticking to the walls and trying to avoid being dragged into anything. He ducked behind a table as a man twice his size came flying through the air and found a full bottle of god knew what rolling around on the floor. He grasped it by the neck. Now he had a weapon.

Standing back up, he found Lars. The man had his sister grasped firmly to his side and was swinging his pipe with abandon, dragging himself and his sibling towards the door. Alfred looked in the direction he'd come from and spotted Arthur and Mathias slugging it out by the back wall. Apparently, Mathias had lost his gun in the chaos. Alfred surged forward, bottle raised high, and charged an unsuspecting Mathias.

The bottle didn't break like it did in the movies, but there was a very satisfying thud as it connected with the back of his opponents head. Mathias slumped to the floor, lost among the other brawlers.

Alfred didn't bother to find out what had become of him. He was too busy grasping Arthur's hand, pulling him along and shouting "Don't let go! Don't you dare let go!" above the din.

It was slow going. Apparently, bursting into a bar fight is much easier than trying to leave one. But Alfred had his bottle and Arthur was still amazing with his fists and eventually they bolted out into the parking lot, hands still clasped.

* * *

><p>"So, you saw I was in trouble and you set a biker gang on my aggressor?"<p>

"Pretty much, yeah."

They'd driven from the bar like bats out of hell and had again found themselves facing nightfall on the side of the road. They'd driven far enough off the highway that they could still see it and parked facing broadside. Alfred had pulled a tarp from his trunk and Arthur had covered it with brush and the like, and now the two were leaning against the un-camouflaged side, backs to the side doors and the road behind them.

"I don't know if that was a brilliant decision or a stupid one on your part."

"It saved your ass, didn't it? That makes it brilliant."

Arthur chuckled. "I suppose it does. Never did get that drink though."

"Oh!" said Alfred, scrambling to his feet.

"Oh?" Arthur responded lazily as Alfred dove into the car.

"Tada!" Alfred sang, offering Arthur the bottle he'd been using as a weapon.

"I take it back!" Arthur exclaimed, with quite a bit of enthusiasm "Your plan was brilliant! Now pour me a shot of- what is it?"

Alfred squinted at the label in the dark. "Rum? Whiskey? Bourbon? I don't really know." he said with a shrug. He rummaged through the backseat of his car and came up with the cups they'd used that morning, pouring a generous shot into each.

"Cheers!" he said, and handed Arthur his cup. Arthur slugged it back without a second thought. Alfred took a more cautious sip of his own.

"Jesus!" he coughed, eyes watering as the liquor burned its way down his throat "How do you drink this stuff?"

Arthur made a noncommittal noise and downed another shot with something like relief. Alfred took another sip, shuddered, and reached for the leftover oranges.

"I'll just stick with these." he decided, already starting to peel one of them.

Arthur shrugged. "More for me, then."

"Go for it. Hell, drink straight from the bottle. I'm not having any more of it."

Arthur immediately launched into a tirade about how, as a gentleman, he would do no such thing. Alfred quarreled back, and eventually the settled into easy conversation, with Arthur doing exactly what he said he wouldn't.

They sat there, Alfred eating and Arthur drinking, as the sound of traffic faded in and out behind them. Eventually, Alfred noted how dark it was getting.

"I can't see my hand in front of my face. Do you want to turn in?"

"Not quite yet."

"Well, then I need a light or something." Which was something of a conundrum. He couldn't turn on the headlights, for fear of being spotted, and it would take a bazillion glow sticks to get bright enough for Alfred's taste.

Eventually, he had a revelation.

"What are you doing?" Arthur queried once he'd sat back down, having gotten up to retrieve a knife, matches, and a bottle of something from the car.

"You can make candles from oranges, watch."

Arthur leaned over and watched Alfred work.

"See, you cut the orange in half, just beyond the peel, and you pull, just like- oomph! just like that. You have to be careful to keep the stem intact, cause that's what you use for a wick. Then you take some oil and you fill up the orange half, making sure to douse the stem. Now you light it."

"Nothing's happening, Alfred."

"Just give it a minute. There! Now we've got a candle."

Alfred cradled the orange half in his hands, watching the flickering light inside it.

"Very romantic." Arthur drawled. Alfred shoved him halfheartedly and continued with his explanation.

"See, if you look closely, you'll see that the stem isn't actually burning. It's the fumes coming off the oil that catch fire, not the oil itself. That's what makes the wick last. The oil continues to be drawn up the stem through capillary action and-"

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking."

Arthur had told Alfred to shut up in no uncertain terms with a whole variety of venom behind them, but this time the order was soft and almost affectionate. Alfred smiled in response and leaned back against the car, letting his shoulder brush against Arthur's.

This was nice. Sitting with Arthur leaning against his side, flickering candle in his palms, stars spread out above them. Alfred could get used to this.

"Hey, Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"You know what we should do?"

"Um, go to sleep?"

"No. We should dance."

"Wha-?" Alfred started to say, but Arthur had already rocketed to his feet and was thrusting the bottle at Alfred.

"Here, hold this."

Alfred took the bottle, it sloshed around and Alfred realized it was already more than half empty. Way more.

"Dude, how much of this did you drink?"

"Stupid question!" Arthur laughed, tugging at Alfred, trying to make him stand "Come on! Come dance with me!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Hold up! I'm gonna set myself on fire if you keep tugging at me like that."

Arthur seemed to agree that this was bad, and he backed off long enough that Alfred could set down his things and get to his feet.

"Dude, I think you're drunk."

"Not drunk." Arthur argued "Just want to dance."

He began to twirl in the darkness, Alfred watching carefully.

"Don't hurt yourself!"

"I'm not going to hurt myself. Come dance!"

Alfred sighed and trotted after him, stopping to do some odd shuffling.

"There, I danced. Will you come back now?" He really needed to get Arthur back under cover. They couldn't afford to be spotted.

"Nope!" Arthur skipped up to him and grabbed his hands "Come on."

They began to spin in a circle. Alfred didn't know how Arthur was doing this. Most drunks couldn't walk a straight line, much less stand up after- Arthur stumbled and Alfred caught him, pulling him up to his chest in a way that was oddly reminiscent of that morning. Arthur slumped against him, wrapping his arms around Alfred's torso and giving a content hum.

"You're warm." he said "You're warm and you look after me even though I keep getting you into trouble and you make me smile even when I don't want to. You're a good person."

He lifted his cheek from Alfred's chest to look him straight in the eye. "I really like you."

Something flickered to life in Alfred's stomach. Something he didn't think had anything to do with the stress or the alcohol or the spinning. It was something warm and gentle and it fizzed through his core like soft static. The knowledge of what it might be left him breathless.

"Alfred? You ok?" Arthur asked, pulling back.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok."

"Ok. I don't think I want to dance anymore."

"Alright. Let's go back to the car."

"Ok."

Alfred led him back to the vehicle, getting him settled and making sure the rest of the alcohol was out of his reach. Arthur was gone almost as soon as Alfred had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, curling up by the rear tire to sleep off his drinking binge.

Alfred stayed up for a long time, looking into the flames of the orange candle and thinking about how he sort of- maybe- possibly- for Arthur.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>So, my November started with my dad's car being totaled (he's fine, car's not) and ended with my computer crashing and then reviving itself four and a half hours later (the little troll). In between these events were copious amounts of schoolwork, a series of nerve-wracking interviews, and surgeries performed on various family members.<strong>

**I don't think I've ever been this glad for a month to be over.**

**In other news, I've tweaked my story outline and partially re-planned the ending. I think I like where it's going.**

**The orange candle is really a thing. Go look it up.**

**Hope to have another chapter up soon. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**Continue?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 14]<p>

* * *

><p>Had the universe been comprised of the same suspect material that dwells within the pages of cheap airport romance novels, Alfred would have awoken to a loving embrace. There would have been sleepy morning kisses interspersed with quiet murmurs of affection. He and Arthur would have been content in each other's arms, and everything would have been rose colored and cliché and grotesquely saccharine.<p>

As it was, the fabric of the universe more closely resembled steel wool, and Alfred woke up with his face inches away from a tire, the smell of rubber invading his senses, and the sounds of Arthur being sick at irregular intervals drowning out the background hum of sparse highway traffic.

Emotionally, he felt like a sinkhole had just opened up beneath his feet, sending him tumbling down to the bottom of a muddy pit filled with rubble and twisted wreckage. When he rolled over, it looked as though, physically, Arthur felt much the same.

"Doing ok?" he grunted as he sat up, wincing at the state of his neck.

Arthur continued to cough and dry heave, hunched over on all fours, but was apparently well enough to lift one arm and give Alfred the finger.

Alfred stood up, feeling a symphony of pops and cracks run down the length of his spine, and retrieved a bottle of water from the car. When he offered it, Arthur shifted into a crouch took the bottle with an expression of sheer gratitude. The first mouthful Arthur swilled in his mouth for a while before spitting out, ridding himself of the lingering taste of vomit. A second later he took a cautious sip and sat waiting to see how his stomach would respond.

"I'm sorry." he said, voice still hoarse.

"For what?" asked Alfred, not pausing in his scan of the horizon. He wanted to make sure the coast was clear before pulling the camouflage off the car. "Puking? You didn't get any on me, so don't worry about it."

"No. For getting so drunk. It was stupid of me. Not to mention dangerous and unprofessional. I'm supposed to be on my guard, keeping you safe. And just look at me." His face was wan and distorted with discomfort, his water bottle shook faintly in his hands, and he didn't smell all that nice. He looked like most people when they came off a bender. Alfred had seen the aftermath of enough college parties to know that Arthur was taking it like a champ.

"You were stressed. I would have cracked a while ago, if I were you. Not your fault you wanted to take the edge off." Alfred had once gotten shitfaced because of a particularly bad bout of exams. Arthur had people trying to shoot him. His sobriety until now had been nothing short of amazing.

Arthur gave a dry cough that might have been a humorless laugh. "Taking the edge off is having a glass or two. I chugged most of the damn bottle, not even taking into account how long it's been since my last binge and how my tolerance might have been affected. I got drunk. I put you in danger. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now how's about we go find a hotel room and get you cleaned up." Alfred was sure that had Arthur been feeling better, there would have been more kowtowing on Arthur's part before he would have allowed Alfred to think about accepting his apology. The issue would probably be brought up again later, but for right now they both seemed to agree that it was more important to get moving than argue.

Arthur allowed Alfred to help him stand, wobbling for a moment like a sailor without sea legs. "That sounds heavenly. Though, I have to admit, it's been fun spending my nights on the road with you."

Alfred's being made the noise a soccer ball makes as it discovers the wonder of flight, just before an enthusiastic pair of cleat clad feet come along and shunt it brutally in a different direction. Alfred clamped down hard on the feeling of reckless joy before the universe came along with its spiked soles and perverse enjoyment of other people's pain. Arthur didn't mean that he had enjoyed the conversations they had had. Arthur didn't mean he'd enjoyed that embrace they'd shared. Arthur wasn't interested. Arthur wasn't what some part of Alfred was starting to hope he could be. Arthur-

Arthur was a warm weight plastered against his side, and it was making it hard to fight off those new confusing feelings he was having.

"You want to ride shotgun?" he asked in place of something stupid "Or do you want to lay down in the backseat?"

Arthur looked nauseous at the mention of having to sit and watch things whip by, he looked nauseous at the whole concept of the car, but the look he gave the back had slightly less trepidation mixed in.

"Backseat it is." Alfred declared, not waiting for Arthur to voice his decision.

"Are you sure? I might get sick again. It would be easier, and cleaner, if I were in the front seat."

"Dude, look at this thing." Alfred waved his arm at the car "At this point, vomit stains aren't going to do much. Hell, they might even help its appearance."

* * *

><p>There was something almost hypnotic about watching clothes in a dryer. Alfred sat on one of the dented metal benches of the laundromat and let the spinning colors, the monotonous hum, and the steady thunks of a broken washer lull him into an almost meditative state.<p>

He'd left Arthur behind at the hotel, an almost suspiciously clean one with a horrible color scheme and walls that smelt faintly of vinegar. That hadn't seemed to put Arthur off, and he'd collapsed facedown onto one of the beds with little hesitation. He hadn't gotten sick during the ride, but the shade of grey his face had turned by the time Alfred parked the car and hauled him out of the backseat indicated it was a near thing. After agreeing that Arthur would shoot whoever came through the door if they did not knock 'shave and a haircut' beforehand, Alfred left to do laundry.

Really, laundry was just an excuse. Alfred had needed to get away, to get some space and think.

Last night he'd been angry, angry at himself and at Arthur and at everything. He'd sat there for who knows how long clenching his jaw so tight he might have broken teeth, wanting to rant and rave and scream and break and crush and snap until the rage had finally bled out of his system leaving behind nothing but an empty sort of exhaustion. Then he'd curled up on his side and let sleep numb his emotional turmoil.

When he woke up, Alfred found that he wasn't so much angry as confused.

Why Arthur?

It wasn't that Arthur was male. Alfred had- you know- with a man before. In college. You were supposed to experiment in college. And he'd enjoyed it. He'd come to terms with the liking both genders thing.

But Arthur, Arthur was a whole 'nother ball game. Arthur was foreign, charming, well mannered, smart, resourceful, easy on the eyes, secretly sweet, hardworking, stubborn, downright adorable at times, and, quite frankly, way out of Alfred's league.

Way, way out of Alfred's league.

And here he was, in the beginning stages of a hopeless crush on a man who could do so much better than Alfred. Realistically, Alfred didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell. So what sort of masochist was he that he'd started falling anyway? Was he just latching on to the human being with whom he'd had regular contact as of late?

No, Alfred realized as he watched the laundry spin, this probably would have happened no matter what. If he'd met Arthur at a bar instead of the side of an empty stretch of highway, he still would have been drawn to the man, as slowly and irresistibly as he was now. Arthur was just magnetic. Captivating. Utterly mesmerizing.

So what the hell was Alfred supposed to do now?

The conventional wisdom of romantics would have him confess, tell Arthur everything, put it all on the line, in the hopes that Arthur returned his feelings. According to that line of thought, you only live once, and something as precious as love should never be allowed to slip away, especially not when it is in ones power to do something about it.

Alfred had always believed YOLO was the battle cry of potential Darwin Award candidates.

There were just some risks you didn't take, and this was one of them. They were both depending on the other to get them out of this alive. Making things awkward would not only jeopardize whatever friendship they were building, but also their lives. Alfred didn't want to see Arthur close up and draw away from him any more than he wanted to end up dead in a ditch.

Alfred knew the odds, and he didn't want to play them.

So, again, what now?

The obvious course of action would be to keep his mouth shut. Just keep acting as he had been and things would work themselves out. He and Arthur could remain friends, and eventually Alfred would be able to let go, move on, and find someone else.

The dryer buzzed so Alfred got up, fished a quarter out of his pocket, and sent the clothes through another cycle. The dryer began to hum again and Alfred sat back down and continued to watch the colorful tumble behind the glass door. The newfound emotions churned inside his chest in a similar fashion. Alfred tried to ignore them.

He'd chosen his course of action. Friendship was better than nothing at all.

This would all work out for the best.

* * *

><p>Arthur had apparently taken a nap while he was gone, if the state of his hair was anything to go by. Alfred closed the door behind him and Arthur tucked his gun away in favor of taking another gulp from one of the water bottles Alfred had left him with. Arthur looked much better than he had the last time had seen him, so much better it was kind of surprising. Arthur must have seen it in his face because he just gave a wry grin and explained it came from years of practice. Alfred decided to ask about that at another time, and instead remained silent as Arthur raised his arms above his head in a slow stretch and hauled himself off his bed.<p>

"I'm surprised you remembered to knock." Arthur yawned, lazily screwing the cap back on his now empty bottle.

Alfred dropped the laundry on the second bed with a grunt. "You'd be surprised how easy it is to remember something when forgetting means being shot in the face. Here, this bag's yours."

Arthur's nose scrunched up, displaying his opinion at having fresh laundry stuffed in a bag instead of being properly folded, but he only voiced a few minor grumbles. Alfred upended his own bag on the bedspread as Arthur went back over to his side of the room to do the same, albeit in a much neater fashion.

"So I'm guessing you're leaving after this to go find something to put in that bottomless pit you call a stomach?"

"Nah. Got something to eat while I was out. Didn't think you could handle the smell of food right now. Also didn't think it was good to be apart for too long, what with the people trying to kill us."

Arthur paused in the middle of fishing his clothes out of the laundry bag. He looked surprised, and a little bit impressed. "Oh. Well, thank you. Glad to see you're capable of forethought."

Alfred rolled his eyes at the backhanded comment and continued with his folding.

"Anyway," Arthur continued "While you were gone, I was thinking about out next step, and I think that we- YOU WANKER! WHY ARE MY SOCKS PINK!?"

"Revenge!" Alfred laughed, throwing up his hands in the manner of sports fans everywhere when their team has been successful. "Now we're even!"

He continued laughing as Arthur gave him a few more choice insults and then, when the insults didn't work, began chucking laundry at him. Alfred retaliated, surprising a smile out of Arthur. By the time it became clear that they had a clothing war on their hands, both were in stitches.

They each took a defensive position, packed into the tight spaces between their beds and the walls, and soon the middle of the room was a no man's land of shirts and pants and socks and a handful of items that Alfred didn't remember washing. Eventually Arthur, who had a much smaller stock of munitions than Alfred, gave a roar, leapt over his own bed, and charged Alfred. To his credit, the man didn't even slow down when Alfred pegged him in the head with a pair of jeans as he crossed the space between the two beds. Instead, he kept his momentum and had soon crossed the second bedspread, entered Alfred's makeshift trench, and begun pelting him with the pink socks that had started the war.

Alfred began shrieking hysterically. What other response is there when a man with a pair of jeans wrapped around his neck like a scarf begins slapping at you with a pair of pink socks? Arthur must also have become aware of how absolutely ridiculous things were because after a few attacks he collapsed as well, the two of them laughing like madmen in the cramped space where Alfred had made his last stand. Eventually, they quieted to breathless giggles, and Alfred shamelessly drunk in the sight of a happy breathless Arthur.

At least until Arthur kicked him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You owe me new socks." Arthur said, trying to seem annoyed.

"Yeah, yeah. There's a new pack in my laundry bag."

Arthur wiggled out of their hiding place to fetch his new socks. Once Alfred had joined him, he handed over the jeans he had appropriated for neck ware and the two of them began to tidy up the hotel room.

"As I was saying" Arthur began, as if he hadn't been the one to start the brief but furious war "I was thinking about our next step, and I think that we should consider heading back."

"Wait. You mean you want to head _towards_ the people that are trying to kill us?"

"Yes."

"Are you nuts?" Alfred exclaimed. There was no way Arthur could be considering a head on confrontation with those people. They'd get their asses kicked six ways to Sunday, a beating that would conclude with a complimentary bullet to the brain.

"No. Hear me out. Mathias said they were searching for us in a grid pattern. I think I can use that to track them back to their place of operations. I just need a map and the coordinates of the last places we've run into them."

"And once you've found their lair, what do you plan to do then?"

"They've obviously got more intelligence on Tino's plan then we do. I'm going to steal some of it and even out the playing field." Arthur tone of voice would suggest that he was talking about walking into a convenience store and picking up some milk, not breaking into an unknown location, filled with people who had expended a lot of effort trying to kill them, and making off with their valuables.

"Sorry, but this is a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. Why would I want to be a part of this?"

Arthur looked at Alfred, wide eyed and determined and just a tad vulnerable. "Because I can't do this without you."

* * *

><p>Sitting hunched over in the driver's seat, hands not leaving the wheel, Alfred had come to the conclusion that he was in trouble. Arthur had given him the look. The one all his past girlfriends had used to make him fold on whatever issue they were trying to press. Alfred didn't want to got to a play? Give him the look. Alfred didn't want to watch their dog for the weekend? Give him the look. Alfred didn't want to help them sort their shoe collection? Give him the look.<p>

Alfred would buckle every time.

Now it seemed that Arthur was capable of giving him the look, but the worst part was that Arthur didn't even seem to be aware that he was doing it. All of Alfred's past girlfriends had required a trial and error period before they could successfully pull it off, and they usually kept it stored away in their arsenal until they needed it. And it didn't even work for them when it came to things that Alfred really didn't want to do. Things that might cause him bodily harm were definitely on that list, and Arthur really shouldn't have been able to make him do this, not even with the look.

Yet here he was in his car, waiting for Arthur to get back from some important spy work.

To be fair, it wasn't like Arthur had batted his eyelashes and Alfred had just rolled over. There'd been some serious discussion, and they'd spent a long time hashing out the details and making sure it wasn't a suicide mission they were rushing into. Alfred had put his foot down, saying that if Arthur couldn't keep food down by the time they planned to go then they weren't going. Arthur had likewise forbidden Alfred from leaving the car and told him to leave if he wasn't back by a certain time. Alfred had silently come to the decision that he'd give Arthur an extra five minutes, no matter how mad it made the Brit.

Never leave a man behind and all that jazz.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried not to think about how the man he was currently having one-sided feelings for was out in the dark somewhere risking his life. God, he felt like an army wife. And there was something he'd never though he'd say about himself. But it was hard not to worry when he had absolutely no idea what was happening. Arthur was out there right now and he could be hurt or dying or dead or-

Or he could be fine. Alfred clung to that thought and pushed the more unpleasant ones to the back of his mind. Arthur was fine. He was coming back. He'd come back and the two of them would drive off to safety and there was absolutely no reason for Alfred to go blurting out how he felt about the man just because there was a chance that something bad might happen.

If the two of them were going to die, then Alfred was not going to be the one to make their last moments awkward.

Alfred remained alone with his thoughts for a further fifteen minutes before Arthur rejoined him, appearing from the darkness, arms full of pilfered goods, and nearly scaring Alfred out of his skin. He snuck into the car, Alfred started the engine, and they were moving before Arthur had even buckled up.

"Did you get it?" He asked, using the question as an excuse to glance over at Arthur. A quick once over revealed that Arthur was lacking in bullet holes, bruises, or even minor scrapes. Alfred allowed himself to relax slightly.

"It was hard to see what was what, but I did manage to steal some papers that looked important. Not to mention this." Arthur produced a laptop from the bottom of the stack.

"Think you'll find something useful on there?"

"No. I think you'll find something. You're the computer expert after all."

"Oh."

"Think you can manage?" he asked, eyebrows raised and head tilted in a way that had Alfred reminding himself that Arthur was not flirting with him. Challenging him maybe, but not flirting.

"Yeah." Alfred responded, trying to sound collected. "I can manage."

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Congratulations, Alfred, you've managed to friendzone yourself.<strong>

**Speaking of Alfred, you can blame him for the delay in updates. He hijacked my writing, as writers know characters are wont to do, and came to the realization that he liked Arthur ahead of schedule. And while I liked that he was more emotionally aware than I'd given him credit for, it meant that I had to redo my plans for the next few chapters and throw out some writing I'd already done for said chapters.**

**Why does no one ever warn you that characters can do this?**

**Continue?**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 15]<p>

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you haven't found anything?"<p>

"I'm telling you, there's nothing on here. Unless you're interested in porn. I went through it, and let me tell you-"

"I don't want to know about Mathias' taste in porn!"

"I didn't either! But you made me go through everything in case there were, and I quote, 'encrypted files'. Do you have any idea the kinds of things I've seen? The kinds of things that make you want to scrub your eyes with sandpaper."

Arthur winced, and if that mental image was enough to make him flinch then Alfred didn't know how he would handle some of the stuff on the laptop. One thing was for sure, a sandpaper scrub wouldn't be enough to get those pictures out.

"And I said I was sorry. But are you really telling me that there is nothing important on there?"

There was an edge of desperation in Arthur's voice that reminded Alfred that Arthur had had a lot riding on this stolen laptop. He calmed down and replied in a much softer voice.

"I'm sorry. But either Mathias kept the important stuff somewhere else, or he never had anything to begin with."

Alfred had checked to see if the laptop had connected with any sort of flash drive or external hard drive and found no evidence that had happened. There was also no suspect internet activity, well, besides the pornography, and no reason to think Mathias had been receiving his instructions that way. There were no files of note and there was no evidence of large sums of data having been deleted. There were no special files lurking about and if anything did exist it was encoded beyond Alfred's ability to find.

"Damnit." Arthur swore and flopped back in his chair. He rubbed at his face, no doubt fighting a combination of exhaustion and disappointment.

They were in yet another cheap eatery, from which they were stealing electricity and Wi-Fi for the laptop. It was the sixteenth place they'd holed up in that day, as Alfred had insisted on bouncing from one place to another to buy them time if someone came looking for them while he searched Mathias' files. The car was parked within easy reach for much the same reason. Sadly, it seemed as though all that effort had produced exactly zero results.

"I'm sorry." Alfred apologized again, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Arthur "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No. It's not your fault. Just dispose of the laptop, make sure they can't use it to track us. I'll be back."

"Should I worry?" Alfred asked, and received a reassuring smile.

"No. But thank you for the concern. I just need to make a phone call." Arthur stood and stretched. Alfred continued with his questioning.

"There was a payphone in that library we stopped in a few blocks back. Want me to give you a lift?"

"No. I'll go myself. We'll meet up in the hotel in half an hour. But if you hear shots fired, it's probably me. In that case, follow the backup plan and try not to get yourself killed."

On that note, Arthur left. Alfred watched him through the glass storefront until he'd passed out of sight and then settled back into his seat and tried to think about what his next step would be. He drew a blank.

Alfred frowned at his bangs as they scratched against his forehead under the influence of a box fan that seemed to exist for the sole purpose of blowing the smell of cigarette smoke at the customers. It wasn't like they needed to be cooled off. They were in the Dakotas now, and, while it wasn't winter, it was still chilly enough that Arthur had borrowed Alfred's sweatshirt. Arthur had complained about the holes in the sleeves, and admitted to longing for his favorite sweater.

If Alfred had thought Arthur looked cute in his too large sweatshirt, it was nothing when compared to Arthur's blushing when he'd admitted that he'd knitted his favorite sweater himself.

Alfred shook his head to clear his thoughts, which only further disturbed his bangs. He blew at them to keep them out of his face, and, when that proved futile, he was forced to admit he needed a haircut. He didn't know how long it'd been since he'd had one, and when he tried to remember he realized that he didn't know what day it was. Didn't even know what day of the week it was.

It was odd. He'd spent the last several years counting down the hours until work ended, or the days to the next episode of some show or another, or the months to the release of the next game he was interested in.

Then Arthur had hijacked his car and all the little things he'd measured time by had stopped meaning anything.

Alfred glanced down at the bottom left of the computer screen. If the date was right – and based on what he had learned about Mathias from the man's files he was hesitant to trust the year much less the month or day – then he had been on the road with Arthur for a couple of weeks now.

Weeks.

Alfred shut the laptop with a snap. He didn't care about the games he wasn't playing. He didn't care about the shows he was missing. He didn't care about the people online he chatted with or the sites that had doubtlessly updated in his absence.

For the first time in his life, Alfred felt like he was doing something that really mattered.

Not that his life before had been pointless, but-

Alfred looked out the window, looked out at the scattered pedestrians making their way up the street. Some walked with clear intent in their strides while others strolled almost aimlessly in one direction or another. Where were they going? What were they thinking? Did they have any idea that the man watching them from the sandwich shop was helping a wanted criminal escape government persecution and that both of them in turn were on the run from a terrorist sect bent on nefarious goals that were still a mystery? Or did they just see him as an unknowable blank, like a voiceless NPC, filling in the background just as Alfred saw them as he stared out the window of the sandwich shop?

If he had never met Arthur, what would he be doing right now? Alfred thought back to his life before. Thought about what he'd go back to if he just walked out right now. He'd be an extra. In frame, but not really a part of anything.

The image, Alfred decided as he stuffed away his things and left, was decidedly depressing. But he also wasn't sure being the big action hero was any better. It was exciting, and he felt alive in a way he hadn't felt before, but it had been so much safer, so much more secure in his little goldfish bowl of TV shows and work and rent-

Alfred nearly tripped on his way out the door. Rent. There was an even more depressing thought…

* * *

><p>When Arthur got back, Alfred was busily eating out of a carton of strawberry ice-cream that had two mates going slightly runny inside a shopping bag on the floor. The empty shell of yet another container was already forgotten in the trash can. The bed on which he was sitting was covered with Mathias' laptop, which was halfway disassembled, as well as things from Alfred's dufflebag of computer parts. The TV was blaring some sort of foreign B movie which had been rendered almost completely unintelligible by poor signal quality.<p>

"Hey!" Alfred greeted happily, spoon dangling from his mouth and hands busy fiddling with odds and ends, "Welcome back!"

Arthur took the disarray of their room in stride, not even questioning the mangled Italian coming from the TV. He slid the deadbolt shut with an authoritative snap and asked Alfred what he thought was the most pressing question.

"What are you eating?"

"Tada!" Alfred sang and held out his purchase. "Strawberry ice cream!"

"Any particular reason why?"

"Yes!" Alfred said, taking his spoon out of his mouth and whipping it around for emphasis. "A depressing event has occurring, and on such occasions we must eat strawberry ice cream, for it is the most depressing of all the flavors!"

Arthur took a moment to process this, and then sat down on the bed by Alfred.

"I'm not entirely sure I want to know, but please explain this to me."

"Ok. So," Alfred began "Strawberry is the flavor no one likes. I mean, seriously, have you ever known someone to prefer strawberry over some other flavor?"

Arthur shook his head, though it was clear he was unsure as to where Alfred was going with this.

"And that's just sad, because strawberry is supposed to be one of the top three flavors, right up there with chocolate and vanilla. But whenever someone gets a tub of ice-cream with the three flavors, strawberry is always the only flavor remaining when the carton gets tossed because of freezer burn. It is a flavor full of disappointment, and that's why I must now eat it."

"You're eating strawberry ice cream because you're depressed?" Arthur concluded, face scrunched up in his usual frown.

"Yup." Alfred popped the 'p' for emphasis and swallowed another spoonful of ice-cream.

"Why?"

"I didn't know what the date was, so I double checked. Turns out, I've passed the point of no return when it comes to paying my rent. As of today, I am officially homeless!"

Arthur's expression switched from confused to concerned and settled on something like self-loathing. Alfred was quick to intervene.

"Dude, don't worry about it. I'd thought I was going to be evicted for months now. I was hoping the interview would go well, but most of my stuff was at my parent's anyway. Better safe than sorry, and all that jazz. Anyway, Mom's been hoping I'd move back in for a while now. She got addicted to Lifetime or something after they got cable and now she's worried I'll get murdered by burglars or start whoring myself out to pay the rent."

"Oh." said Arthur, clearly lost for words. "What about your father?"

"Dad? Oh, he's never trusted computers. As far as he's concerned, they run on dark magic and Skynet is totally going to happen one day. He's hoping that this will clear my head and I'll get a respectable position in, I don't know, accounting or something."

"Don't accountants use computers?"

"These days? Probably. I don't think dad realizes they use anything more advanced than calculators."

Alfred lick the utensil clean and then scooped out another spoonful of artificially pink sweetness. Instead of eating more, he offered it to Arthur. "Want some?"

Arthur delicately arched an oversized eyebrow. "What makes you think I want ice cream?"

"Well, no offense or anything, but your life's kind of a crapsack right now. If anyone should be eating strawberry ice cream around here, it should be you."

Arthur looked at the spoon, looked at Alfred, and then back to the spoon. Alfred watched his green gaze flicker back and forth, unsure as to why Arthur had turned a shade of pink only slightly lighter than the frozen treat.

His ears were so red they looked sunburnt he noted idly.

"Come on dude. Just take the spoon. You know you want to." he sang, waving the spoon in Arthur's direction.

Arthur smacked it away, resulting in a globule of pink being catapulted across the room to land on a piece of furniture with a soft splat. The event went completely unnoticed by its two inhabitants. "I'm not using your spoon! For all I know, stupidity is contagious!"

"Aw. Is Artie afraid of a spoon? A little spoony spoon?" the spoon came back to waggle dangerously close to Arthur's face. "Spoony spoony spoony- Hey! Give it back!"

Arthur held the utensil out of Alfred's reach, smirking triumphantly. "If you're going to shove it in my face like that, you clearly can't be trusted with it."

"But now how am I going to eat my ice cream?" Alfred whined.

"Use your hands. Isn't that what Neanderthals- Oy!"

Alfred tackled him. Using his greater weight to keep Arthur pinned down, he began to ruthlessly probe the Brit's sides for weaknesses. After a moment, Arthur made a few strangled noises and the tickling began in earnest.

"Surrender!" he demanded, arching to keep Arthur's flailing knees away from his ribs, fingers wriggling against sensitive ribs all the while.

"Never." Arthur replied, somewhat breathlessly. Alfred's pulse picked up at the sight of a flushed and smiling Arthur spread out beneath him. There was a sort of unbridled joy hiding in the green depths of Arthur's eyes that had Alfred leaning in to see if maybe he couldn't make those orbs really shine.

And then, using some odd twisting motion that had Alfred convinced the man was half snake, Arthur had thrown him onto the floor.

Right, secret agent. Needed to remember that.

Alfred lay on the floor listening to the forgotten television before the bed creaked and Arthur's face peered down at him, mussed hair forming a glorious blonde halo.

"I believe victory is mine." he deadpanned. His eyes were still brilliant.

"Indeed." Alfred deadpanned back, shoving improper impulses back to wherever they had come from with no small amount of dismay at his own actions. He held up his arms. "Can I have my ice cream back, at least?"

Arthur vanished for a moment and then handed down Alfred his treat. Alfred immediately shoveled another spoonful of soupy pink goodness into his mouth, not quite ready to trust himself again when Arthur still looked so carefree.

"Just so you know, the offer of ice cream still stands." He said before he could say or do anything as stupid as what he had almost just attempted.

"Very generous of you" Arthur noted, still leaning over and looking down at Alfred, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass."

"You're loss." Alfred twisted around, pulling himself up into a seated position and, more importantly, off his shoes, which he'd carelessly tossed on the floor not long after returning to the room. "How'd it go?"

"Something might've turned up, but it's too early to tell." Arthur sighed. "My contact is going to call me from the same number I called him from."

"So you're gonna go stalk a payphone for a bit?"

"Essentially, yes. Will you be able to keep yourself out of trouble?"

Alfred spread his arms, gesturing to the ice cream and the bad TV and the computer parts strewn everywhere. "Way ahead of you!"

Then, more seriously. "Are you gonna be ok?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I haven't managed to get myself killed yet, thank you."

"No. I know you're a badass agent and all. It's just that- I worry. About you."

The admission hung between them. Alfred lowered his eyes to his ice cream, the newfound feelings for his companion, still riled up from the impromptu tickling, settled uncomfortably with the ice cream in his stomach. Arthur watched him, expression unreadable.

"Look, I-" Alfred's gaze came up just in time to see Arthur's hand dart down and steal his spoon. The black plastic vanished between upturned lips and then reappeared, this time sans ice-cream.

"Wha- Hey!" Alfred sputtered, not sure how to react.

Arthur smirked, looking smug but oddly flush. "You said your offer still stands."

"Well, yeah. But I thought you would ask first." Alfred said indignantly.

Arthur rolled his eyes and handed back the spoon. "Get up here." He patted the bedding invitingly.

Alfred eyed his offer suspiciously, spoon held up in a feeble form of defense. "You're not going to toss me off are you?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If I'm going to stay here, I'm going to need someone to explain what's happening in this dratted movie."

Arthur had a brief glimpse of a megawatt smile before Alfred had launched himself up on the bed with enough force to make the Brit bounce.

"Ok. So, as far as I can figure, these guys are astronauts and they're exploring some alien planet or another. The black haired guy's the hero, the dude with glasses is his friend who's probably going to be dead before the movie's over, I think the old guy has superpowers, and they guy with the funny accent is evil and is plotting to help sentient eggplants kill off the rest of the crew and invade Earth. Also, there's this slug-lady princess who's important for unspecified reasons, somehow connected to the old guy, and currently imprisoned by the eggplants. I think she's the love interest because the hero's girl back home might be cheating on him with his commanding officer who I think is his uncle."

"You speak Italian?"

"Not a word."

"Then how-"

"Just watch. The language of bad B movies, much like soap operas, is universal."

* * *

><p>It was dark now, Arthur had slunk off some time ago and Alfred had turned off the TV and the lights and tried to go to sleep. Cars drove by with dull roars, sending streamers of light through the windows. Far off sirens blared. People outside yelled and laughed. The rhythmic thud of footsteps wound through the hotel. Through all of it, Alfred had stared blankly at the wall as he had since Arthur slipped out the door.<p>

Sleep wasn't happening.

He kicked off the blankets in frustration and clicked the lights back on. So he couldn't sleep. Fine. He'd just fine something to do until he got tired enough and then he'd turn in. He wandered over to his things and began searching through them. A paperback novel, long forgotten at the bottom of a backpack with its spine nearly bend in half due to neglect, was opened up and leafed through before being thrown away. Instead, Alfred hauled his big duffle of computer parts up onto the bed and settled cross-legged on top of the covers.

Alfred dug through the mess of parts he'd been working with earlier and fished out Hitler's little black box out of the bottom of the bag.

"Ok." he said, reaching for his tools "Let's see what you are."

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I LIVE!<strong>

**Continue?**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 16]<p>

* * *

><p>Alfred didn't know what time of the morning it was. At the moment he didn't really care. He was too busy staring dumbfounded at his jury rigged combination of the laptop and Hitler's remains. All he'd wanted to do was cobble together something that would let him take a peek at whatever code might have been swimming about in Hitler's black box. He just wanted to get some idea of what it was supposed to do. He hadn't intended this.<p>

Intentional or not, the end result could not be denied. Alfred appeared to have a working satellite targeting system perched on his bedspread inquiring as to whether he would like to input his own coordinates or search through a list of previously entered targeting information.

In the back of his mind Alfred supposed that some coding must have corrupted because there was no way someone should just be able to plug Hitler into a laptop and have immediate access to such impressive military hardware. That kind of stuff should at least be password protected.

The remainder of his dumbfounded mind, the part that wasn't disappointed at the apparent failure of military cyber security, was trying to put two and two together and the only sum it could come up with was "Holy Fuck."

Holy fuck. If he had access codes to missile launch sites he could blow up the whole goddamned world right now.

Holy fuck. His GPS had been a piece of military hardware this whole time.

Holy fuck. Hitler really did exist for the sole purpose of destroying the free world.

Alfred lethargically closed the laptop lid and then opened it again, hoping beyond hope that the entry screen would simply not be there when he did. Sadly, the unassuming question remained, waiting for him to select a location to rain devastation upon. If this was a hallucination, it was a persistent one.

A moment's pause, then the bizarre game of peek-a-boo was repeated. Nope. Still there.

Holy fuck.

Alfred closed the laptop again, dropped his face into his hands, and tried to remember how to breathe. He was more than a little out of his depth right now. If being kidnapped by a wrongfully accused British secret agent had been out of his comfort zone, then this way, way, way beyond him. This was... This was... This was...

Holy fuck.

Was Arthur kidnapping him even a coincidence? A top secret targeting system goes missing and the person responsible for its disappearance just happens to wind up in the same car as the unlucky sod who'd bought it in an online auction? Not even gambling addicts would take those odds. But surely if Arthur had known he would have said something or tried to take it from Alfred?

At the very least, if Arthur had known this whole time he wouldn't have shot the darn thing. Alfred was sketchy on standard spec ops procedures, but he was fairly certain that you couldn't just shoot government property, especially government property with the price tag that he suspected Hitler had, just because it annoyed you.

Or maybe they could. He had to admit, at this point that theory seemed more likely than their whole adventure together being one big cosmic coincidence.

Holy fuck. There was not enough caffeine in his system for him to deal with this right now. Was drowning yourself in coffee the appropriate response to discovering you possessed something that would bump you up about a million places on the FBI's most wanted list?

Holy fuck. Would the government even believe him if he tried to return it?

'No, I'm not a terrorist. My GPS -who I named Hitler by the way, funny story- just happened to be a possible weapon of mass destruction. So, can I mail it back to you for a refund, or what?'

Yeah, that would totally go over well.

Freak out having reached new heights, Alfred heaved himself off the bed and began a regimen of furious pacing interspersed with moves from some forgotten native dance.

Ok, so, going straight to the government was a Bad Idea and the police would just think he was crazy. Which left Arthur. Arthur would know what to do, Arthur always seemed to know what to do. Arthur could most definitely fix the crazy.

Unless Arthur had known about this all along. In which case, why hadn't he done anything about it before now?

And now he was just thinking himself in circles.

Warning. Thought processes have no terminating condition. Infinite loop likely. Abort. Abort.

Ok, Alfred, deep breaths.

Step one: Calm down. There's nothing you can do about the program short of deleting it, and that would make the hypothetical shadowy government agents even angrier with you. Take a chill pill. Don't do anything rash.

Step two: Get Arthur. If he already knows about this, confront him. If he doesn't, this wasn't a development that could afford to escape his notice.

Step three: ?

Ok, so his plan consisted of foisting the crisis onto Arthur, but it wasn't like he was ditching him or anything. Alfred would help in any capacity he could and would do his darnedest even if it was beyond him. He was just letting Arthur make the executive decisions.

And he'd sounded so much less like a dithering housewife in his head...

The door blew open with a distinct lack of the knock Arthur and he had taken to using as of late, and Alfred's newfound survival instincts kicked in and he was on the floor on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his head before he could really process anything. As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Arthur was back and, if the excited gleam in his eyes was anything to go by, something serious had gone down while he was out. Alfred allowed himself one moment to feel self-conscious about how he looked sprawled on the floor with wrinkled clothes, ruffled hair, and eyes baggy and bloodshot with lack of sleep. Then it was time for righteous indignation.

"Dude! Knock! We both agreed the knocking is very important-"

"I found him."

Him? Him who? Wait, Arthur didn't mean...! Alfred peeled his arms from the panicked death grip they'd had on his skull and sat bolt upright.

"Tino? You know where he is?"

Arthur faltered for a moment and shook his head. "No, but I know where he will be. He's headed towards North Dakota."

"So he's trying to cross the border into Canada?"

Shit. If Tino made it over the border, they wouldn't be able to follow. At least, not legally. Alfred didn't really want to get in trouble with the authorities of two separate countries, but if illegally crossing the border would keep Tino from enacting whatever plans he had brewing he supposed it was worth it. He was already in possession of stolen government property, what was a run in with border patrol?

"Canada has nothing to do with this." Arthur corrected, completely derailing Alfred's train of thought. "He's going to North Dakota."

"Why would he want to go there?" Fleeing across the border was something Alfred could understand. Fleeing to North Dakota didn't make much sense unless Tino was trying to throw them off the trail and, although Alfred's interactions with the man had been understandably limited, that didn't seem to be what Tino wanted. If anything, their foolhardy pursuit of the criminal only seemed to make it easier for him to try and kill them.

"Think. What's in North Dakota that an international terrorist would want?"

Alfred thought long and hard and failed to come up with anything. As far as he was concerned, North Dakota was like a vestigial limb. It was there, but it didn't seem to serve any purpose but to be very cold and keep the number of states at an even fifty. At least this all seemed to be making sense to Arthur.

"I've got nothing." he admitted after a time.

"Missile silos, Alfred. North Dakota has missile silos."

"That's bad." There wasn't much more you could say to that. What could you say when you learned a terrorist was going for the big guns? At least things couldn't get much worse.

"Nuclear missile silos." Arthur continued, and he really had no right to say something which filled Alfred with such dread in such a cheerful tone.

"And that's really bad. Please tell me you're joking." Alfred stood corrected on the bad news front.

"I wouldn't joke. Not about something like this. Not when it's the first bit of good news we've had in a while."

"In what world is that good news?"

"It's good news because now we know exactly where he's going." Arthur took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it about half a dozen times to reveal a map which he spread across the bedspread. Alfred stood up to take a look. Near the upper edge of the state, a name had been circled. Arthur jabbed at the spot with something like triumph.

"Minot, North Dakota, and its surrounding areas are home to a large quantity of silos housing intercontinental ballistic missiles. And I have it on good authority that Minot is exactly where Tino is headed. Alfred, do you know what this means?"

"We're gonna head him off at the pass." Alfred answered with utmost surety.

Arthur actually laughed, made giddy by the first glimmer of hope they'd had in a while. For so long they'd been blindly chasing and being chased, and now, suddenly, they had a destination. Arthur seemed more alive than he had in weeks and, in one impulsive movement, he grabbed Alfred's hands and began to swing them round in circles.

"Yes." he crowed as they spun. "We're going to head him off at the pass. And then we're going to... we're going to..."

"Hog tie him and drag him back to face justice." Alfred joined in, smile growing on his face. Arthur's sudden cheer was proving to be infectious.

"And then we'll celebrate. I think this calls for alcohol. Lots of it."

Alfred laughed as well. "As long as you're buying."

"After what we've been through, I'll buy out the whole bar. We deserve it." Arthur's expression softened. "You deserve it."

The spinning stopped and Alfred was dizzy for entirely unrelated reasons. They were still holding hands and Arthur was so close and so warm and Alfred just wanted to pull him close and drink in the happiness that was rolling off him. He wanted Arthur to always be this happy. Wanted Arthur to always have that small smile and those eyes lit up greener than grass on a summer afternoon and the slight blush that bloomed across his cheeks.

He didn't want to stop this moment for anything. Not for food. Not for sleep.

Not for a laptop that was currently targeting system.

Darn it.

He'd forgotten about that.

"I need to tell you something." Alfred breathed, every part of him wanting to keep quiet but knowing he needed to speak up.

"I need to tell you something, too." Arthur breathed back.

"Umm... I don't really know how to begin. You even have moments where something happens and at the time you just don't even give it a second thought, but then you look back on it and suddenly everything changes? Well, while you were gone, I was looking over some things and I didn't know then, but I've realized something, and- I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"Alfred, I- I know what you mean." Arthur whispered and it seemed hard for him to meet Alfred's eyes.

"You knew, all this time?"

So, Arthur had known about Hitler. But why hadn't he done anything? Why hadn't he said anything?

"It took me a while to realize, and I almost didn't want to believe it at first, -it just seemed so unlikely- but I eventually realized that ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away. I wanted to say something sooner, but there was never any good way to bring it up."

"I know how you feel." Alfred had thought hard about it before Arthur came back, but there really weren't any good segues into 'Hey, my GPS is a targeting system.'

"I guess I might as well tell you everything now." he drew a deep breath. "I- I-"

Alfred gently squeezed the hand still in his grasp to let Arthur know that he wasn't mad at him for keeping this a secret. It was ok. Arthur kept a lot of secrets, it was part of his job, and Alfred was just glad that Arthur trusted him enough to tell him things. Even if he didn't tell him right away.

"I-" Arthur shut his eyes and forced himself to continue. "I find you incredibly attractive."

...

...

...

Oh.

Well.

That wasn't where Alfred had been going with this at all. Not that he necessarily had a problem with this recent development, but-

"And I realize" Arthur continued "that this probably isn't the best time to be doing this, but I just- I couldn't not say anything. Not now. Not after all we've been through. Not when-" That blush was so bright it could be seen from space. "Not when I know you like me back."

Arthur's face tilted up and Alfred leaned down and this really couldn't be happening. Alfred hovered there, just beyond the touch of Arthur's nose, and waited for something, anything, to go wrong. Tino's goons to bust through the door. The police to show up. An alien invasion. Somebody yelling 'fire.' An escaped gorilla. Anything.

"Alfred-" Arthur murmured.

Tino could have set off all those missiles right then and Alfred wouldn't have given a damn.

Nothing mattered anymore besides the feel of Arthur's lips pressed against his own.

Alfred wanted to stay like this, with Arthur pressed close to him and their arms wrapped around each other and the euphoric crush of their mouths slowly giving way to something deeper. Alfred wanted to stay cocooned in the moment forever, but Arthur was gently pushing him back, breaking the connection between them.

Alfred figured he should say something, but there didn't seem to be words for this moment. He settled for grinning like an idiot.

Arthur smiled back but it was heartbreakingly sad, especially compared to how he'd smiled just a moment ago.

"I'm sorry." he lamented.

Alfred wanted to ask for what, because Arthur had just rocked his world and he didn't see any reason to apologize for that. He never got the chance, because just then the hand resting on his shoulder performed the real world equivalent of the Vulcan Neck Pinch.

He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Sigh. Arthur, I didn't make Alfred more emotionally aware just so you could become constipated in the romance department.<strong>

**I'd say 'surprise' about the Hitler reveal, but you guys had it pegged from about the third chapter on. I need to be more subtle with my McGuffins.**

**Also, I feel like I should apologize to anyone living in North Dakota. Sorry for slandering your state.**

**Continue?**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**I don't know what I'm doing.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 17]<p>

* * *

><p>"Sir." someone was calling through the door. "You either need to pay for another night or vacate the premises immediately."<p>

Alfred, who'd come to on the hotel floor after the staff member had signaled their presence with a round of vigorous knocking, was too preoccupied with a mental and emotional clusterfuck to care about his impending eviction.

They'd been having a moment. A _moment_. A brief, wonderful moment where everything had been soft and glowy and perfect.

And then Arthur had gone Spock on his ass.

Why had Arthur gone Spock on his ass? And, after having gone Spock on his ass, why had Arthur taken the time to lay him out on the floor and prop his head up with a pillow before vanishing without so much as a by your leave? Who does that? What did that even mean? Alfred was getting some seriously conflicting signals here.

Was it him? Was it his fault? Had Arthur not liked the kiss? Did Arthur think he was a bad kisser? There had to be less enigmatic ways of telling someone they were bad a tonsil hockey.

Alfred didn't think he was a bad kisser, or at least he'd never gotten any complaints. And he'd certainly enjoyed the kiss.

Ok, that was a lie. He'd replaced that time with the storm trooper and the disco ball and set up his kiss with Arthur as the new milestone against which all future kisses were to be measured.

Whatever the problem with the kiss had been, it certainly hadn't come from Alfred's end. Which meant that it had been Arthur who'd concocted whatever nebulous reason he had to stop the kiss. And then saw fit to follow through by dropping Alfred to the floor. And he had no idea what that reason might be. He'd stopped trying to figure out the inner workings of Arthur's mind a while ago.

Alfred had never really outgrown the fantasy that he might one day acquire superpowers, but he was usually more interested in things like flight or super strength or invulnerability. Never before had he wished so hard for the ability to read thoughts. At least then he'd have a clue as to what was going on.

He was confused. So confused. And a little bit angry. And fed up with all this secret agent BS that Arthur kept pulling. They trusted each other. Arthur had said that he'd trusted Alfred. So why couldn't the man just open his mouth and talk to him like a normal person?

Alfred sat up, still at a loss and only feeling all the more frustrated because of it.

"Sir, you need to-"

"Yeah." Alfred ground out. "I hear you. Let me get my stuff."

Something in his voice, audible even through the door, must have hinted to the hotel employee that this really wasn't the time to be confrontational because they hesitated a moment and then told him he had another fifteen minutes before they retreated down the hall.

Alfred, waiting until the footsteps had vanished to haul himself upright, grimaced as his head did a passable imitation of a hangover. His first thought was to dig out some aspirin, but it turned out it was already waiting for him on the nightstand along with a glass of water and a folded piece of hotel stationary.

Arthur had left him a message. Alfred grabbed it, nearly upending the glass of water, and slowly opened the damp folds. The condensation had made the ink run, but Alfred still got the gist of it.

_I can't let you come with me_. The note said. _It's too dangerous and I care about you too much_.

So that was it then. Arthur thought that the mission had become too dangerous and had left Alfred behind for his own good.

Well, fuck Arthur.

He could keep his condescension and his paltry attempt at consolation. If he'd had even a scrap of empathy lurking behind those bushy eyebrows of his he'd understand that Alfred felt exactly the same way. But you didn't see Alfred chaining Arthur to radiators or locking him up for his own good, now did you? You didn't see Alfred dumping Arthur like deadweight when it looked like he wouldn't be useful in the near future, did you?

Alfred calmly ripped the note into infinitesimal pieces, balled his hand into a fist, and then smashed it into the wall hard enough that the lamp toppled off the nightstand onto the floor. His knuckles left indentations in the drywall.

Fine. If Arthur didn't want him around, then there was no reason for him to stay.

Alfred stowed his stuff and stormed out into the parking lot, forgoing the checkout procedure. No hotel employee tried to stop him, not wanting to deal with someone so obviously incensed. As it was, his car took a little bit more abuse, doors slammed so hard they rattled and another dent kicked into its side, before it was roaring down the highway, speed limits be damned.

Good riddance. Arthur'd been nothing but trouble anyway. He'd completely blindsided Alfred's life, left it in shambles really, and he hadn't even had the goddamned common courtesy to give him a proper goodbye. Alfred had given up his time, his car, his future prospects, and for what?

A kiss, some bruises, and a soggy excuse of a note.

People in country songs got better than that.

Well, they'd just see who was going to get the last laugh, now wouldn't they? Alfred was going to go back home. And he was going to get a job. And he was going to get a new apartment. And he was going to get a new car.

And he was going to settle down with someone who wouldn't pick up and leave and abandon him in a hotel in the middle of nowhere. Someone who actually cared about his life and his interests and who wouldn't jerk him around for their own benefit. And he was going to be happy. So, so happy. And... And...

And Arthur could go and get himself killed for all he cared.

Arthur could get killed.

He took his foot off the accelerator and let his car drift to a stop on the shoulder, forehead on the steering wheel and faced scrunched in emotional turmoil.

Arthur could get killed. Arthur could get killed because he was a stupid, stupid idiot who had decided to be chivalrous and leave his only ally behind while he charged headlong into danger. Why? Because he _cared too much_.

Alfred wasn't going back for him. Arthur had made it very clear where he stood and Alfred wasn't going back for someone who, time and time again, had proven unwilling to commit to whatever relationship they had going for them. Alfred absolutely, positively was not going back for him.

Not even if Arthur was totally alone now. Not even if Arthur was going up against a certified lunatic who had minions. Well-armed minions. Minions who would do horrible, painful things to Arthur if they caught him. Minions who would drag him off to their boss. A boss who absolutely hated Arthur. A boss who would gleefully do even worse things to him than the minions.

Arthur was in trouble. Arthur was going to be in deep, deep trouble. Alfred could-

No, dammit. No.

He wasn't going back for him. Arthur had made his choice, and now Alfred had made his. He was going to go home, get away from this whole messed up situation. He was going to get himself a job and an apartment and a car whose sides didn't resemble that of a golf ball. He was going to go back to his normal, quiet life and never think about any of this ever again. He was going to be happy. He was going to be happy without Arthur and the crazy that came with him.

He was-

He was-

He was going back for Arthur, wasn't he?

Stupid hero complex.

* * *

><p>Alfred had no idea where to start. Sure, he knew where Arthur'd been headed, but that only got him to Minot. What to do after that was something of a mystery.<p>

As it turned out, there were quite a lot of missile silos in Minot. Like, over a hundred. He'd been given a map by an anti-nuke protestor, each site marked by a helpful little red dot. And somewhere in that forest of little red dots were an international terrorist, his minions, and the secret agent that Alfred happened to have feelings for.

Think. There were hundreds of missile silos, but a missile silo was just a really big tube with a rocket propelled mushroom cloud waiting to happen stored inside. Tino could go for any one of those silos, but then he'd only be in possession of one missile. If he had bigger plans, which Alfred was sure he did, Tino would go to wherever the shiny red button that controlled all of those missiles was. Tino would go for the control center.

Now all Alfred had to do was find it.

The little snag in that plan was that the gated compound housing all those little red dots covered an amount of land that wasn't insignificant and he wasn't even sure where to begin looking. What did a missile control center even look like? Something imposing and obviously military, like a bunker? Or maybe it'd been disguised as something unobtrusive, like a toolshed? Or maybe they'd just decided 'to hell with it' and made it look like a fairytale cottage.

Alfred sat parked next to the seeming endless span of chain-link fence and agonized over what to do. He could just hop the fence, wander out into the compound and hope for the best. But his luck hadn't been the best as of late, and something in his gut told him he didn't have time to go wandering aimlessly. He had to find Arthur soon. But how? How? How? How?

It wasn't like he could just ask somebody for directions to launch control.

'Sure, you hang a left at your third missile silo and keep going until you hit the bright red sign that says this is military property and trespassers will be shot on sight. Can't miss it!'

Anyone who might possibly help him find his way would just think he was insane. And odds were anyone who would believe him and offer assistance would be insane themselves.

Insane...

...

...or Hitler.

The little electronic whack job had indicated that it had targeting information for a large number of key installations, American and otherwise. Maybe one of those targets happened to be what he was looking for. All he'd have to do was boot that sucker up and scroll through until he found a match. It would take a lot less time to find Arthur this way. Then he wouldn't be facing the problem alone, so they'd probably get it done faster. That would also leave less time for Tino to do... whatever it was Tino was scheming. Which, since that scheming involved nukes, was good for all parties involved.

But, on the other hand, he'd have to deal with Hitler again, and who knew if it'd even provide accurate directions.

And there was the nature of his dilemma.

Hope to find it on his own and possibly fail thereby inviting the possibility of a group of terrorists seizing control of a nuclear launch facility and/or the death of his love interest?

Turn on Hitler?

Either way, it felt like the terrorists won.

For all Hitler's failings, they'd certainly made activating target lock quite user friendly. Alfred didn't know whether to appreciate this fact or be disturbed by it. It didn't take more than a quick search and a couple of clicks before he had a set of coordinates selected. Hopefully, it marked an actual location and wasn't just a general 'bomb here' sign.

Wild goose chase or no, Hitler certainly seemed eager to lead him off into the night.

"Turn right in one hundred yards." its warped speakers managed to enunciate.

He had directions. Was he going to follow them?

Was he really going to follow the instructions of a bastardized GPS into a classified government facility which contained not only angry military personnel but terrorist operatives, some of which he'd angered personally? And he was going to do this as it was getting dark? All for a secret agent who'd left him on the floor of a hotel room and bolted?

"Turn right in one hundred yards." Hitler reiterated.

Yes.

Apparently he was.

* * *

><p>It'd taken a good twenty minutes of trudging, but he'd eventually made his way to his 'final destination,' as Hitler insisted on calling it. It would have been more dramatic if there'd actually been something there waiting for him.<p>

He was sure he'd gotten the coordinates right, but right now he didn't see squat. No large and official buildings in which to house equipment that could end the world. No squat and imposing bunkers. No unobtrusive toolsheds. And, thankfully, no fairytale cottages. Which meant that Alfred was lost or he was missing something.

"If I were a launch control center, where would I be?" Alfred looked down between his feet. The missile silos were underground, why not the control center?

Alfred shuffled about in the dark, led only by the light of Hitler's screen, and eventually stumbled upon what he'd been looking for. Well, tripped over it is more like. Squatting in the field was what looked like a rectangle of cinderblocks that, on closer inspection, proved to be a vent of some kind. Its cover had been removed and placed on the ground nearby. He was simultaneously overjoyed at the thought that Arthur had been here not long before and unsettled to realize that the vent was big enough for a person to squeeze through. Which meant if Alfred wanted to follow, he'd have to go through that thing.

"Great. Just great. Dying underground was so high up on my to-do list."

Alfred leaned over and looked down into the vent. He didn't really know what he was looking for, but what stared up at him was the proverbial rabbit hole. No bottom in sight and know way of knowing where it would send him tumbling.

"Maybe this will be fun." Alfred consoled himself, already beginning to wriggle his way into the vent.

As it turned out, crawling through air ducts sucked ass. They were dirty, sticky in unexpected places, and the only thing that could possibly be more claustrophobic would be a coffin. And Alfred was trying very, very hard not to think about coffins as he performed an awkward army crawl through almost complete darkness. The silence also got to you, not because it was complete, but because every so often there'd be a bang or a creak that wasn't caused by Alfred shifting his weight or accidentally banging his knees into the sides of the air duct. It was at those times that a lifetime of slasher films and survival horror video games came back to haunt him.

Alfred had taken to talking to himself to keep himself both calm and sane, which, in retrospect, probably didn't bode well for his mental state to begin with.

"I feel no fear." He panted, pulling himself along at a constant pace. "This is me without fear. In an air duct. In an underground facility probably controlled by terrorists. With no weapon. And a top-secret government targeting system named Hitler."

He paused for a moment, then said "Fuck."

Fuck was a good all-purpose swear word. It also made for a great survival mantra, and Alfred repeated it over and over for about the next twenty feet before spotting a light off in the distance. The cover had been removed and carefully set aside in this location as well. He was sweaty and dirty and _really_ wanted out of the vents, but kept still until he was sure he was alone until slipping out into the hallway below.

Against all odds, he managed a graceful landing.

Channeling every stealth game he'd ever played, he sunk into a crouch and began slinking down the hallway, staying close to the walls and alert of noises or movement. He made it to the end undetected and peered around a corner, reveling in his own newfound ninja skills.

Which was approximately when the vent cover fell to the ground with an ungodly clatter that probably could've been heard from space.

Alfred hugged Hitler to his chest and braced himself, back to the wall, waiting for armed men to begin pouring into the hallway. He crouched there, shoulders hunched and eyes closed, and anyone vaguely angry or guard-like failed to materialize. Anyone calm or un-guard-like also failed to materialize.

He cracked one eye open.

Nobody'd heard that?

How had nobody heard that?

Not questioning his luck, he bolted around the corner and down a new stretch of hallway, not bothering to stay as low or as quiet as he had before. If they hadn't heard the vent, they weren't going to hear him. It was more important now to keep moving. Not that he had any idea where he was moving to. He'd run into a couple of doors, but a brief jiggle of their handles had revealed they were locked and he wasn't about to waste time utilizing his nonexistent lock picking skills.

He continued like this for a while until something stopped him short.

It was an unobtrusive door, it didn't even have a plaque with 'JANITOR' or 'SUPPLY' written on it to make it more mundane, but something about it tickled awake the primal, lizard part of his brain. _Get away_, his instincts murmured. _Don't open it_. _Get away_.

Alfred, not bothering to question why the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, skittered around the door and continued on down the hallway. He hit a couple more locked doors and some unlocked ones opened to reveal some cramped offices before he found what he was looking for.

A door with a plaque on it. Specifically, a plaque which read 'CONTROL.'

Oh yeah. That was important.

A tap revealed that it was unlocked and Alfred slowly turned the handle and peered through the crack into the room beyond.

A giant wall of screens greeted him, covered with a series of longitude and latitude coordinates and what he guessed were clocks. Perhaps they were monitoring time zones? He thought he remembered that being important to targeting somehow. Alfred's gaze passed over all the monitors before settling on one of the corners of the room where, looking for all the world like dogs who expected to be beaten, hunched two people.

The man looked shaky, pale, and about four minutes away from losing his marbles. From the way he was dressed, fashionable eyeglasses and a sensible turtleneck tucked into khakis, halfway crazy was probably a new look for him. Behind him, looking scared but more put together than her companion, was a girl of around twelve in a pretty sundress. There was a ribbon in her hair, he noted idly.

Alfred held up his hands as the door swung the rest of the way open, demonstrating a distinct lack of any sort of armament.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You- You're- You- You're not-" He had a thick accent, Alfred couldn't place it, and it was hard to tell if it was a lack of a grasp on the English language or sheer panic that had him scrambling to get the words out.

"With Tino, no."

The man blanched at the mention of Tino's name, and Alfred leaned back a little in case he lost his lunch. The girl said something in what Alfred guessed was German and tugged on the man's shirt in what he supposed was a comforting gesture.

"I- I'm sorry- I- I- It's been sort of-" he made a gesture which Alfred failed to interpret. "Horrible. Horrible lately. Very horrible. I'm Eduard. And this is Lili."

Alfred didn't comment on the sudden change in topic. If anything, introductions seemed to be calming the man down.

"Nice to meet you both, I'm Alfred. You wouldn't happen to be with, you know, would you?" In hindsight, he probably should have established if these were Tino's goons before he'd admitted to not working for the man.

"No." said Eduard. "No, no, no. We were kidnapped. Forced to work for him. He wanted us to make a program. A targeting program."

"I know about this." Alfred realized. "You're the people. The ones on Mathias' list. The ones that had all gone missing."

"Yes, well." Eduard managed a tight sort of smile. "Here we are."

"So where is everyone? Is Tino keeping them here too?" He glanced around the room, as though expecting programmers and scientists to start popping out from under the floor tiles.

"Once the program was complete and he no longer required the services of so many, he... ah, he downsized." Eduard choked out the last word.

_downsized _

Alfred didn't even have to ask him to clarify to know that everyone on the list, with two exceptions, was dead.

"He kept us - Lili and I - to ensure that there was someone to monitor the final phase, to fix any last bugs that may occur. I don't know why he chose us. There were others. So many others..."

"What about the staff?" he asked, trying to keep Eduard from drifting. "There had to be someone here before Tino took over."

"There were. Tino's men took them away, just down there." he jerked his arm to indicate the hallway Alfred had come from. "Then they downsized them too."

Alfred thought about the unmarked door down the hall and suddenly had to swallow hard.

Lili spoke up, saying something in soft German. Eduard started.

"Oh, yes. Lili wanted to know if you were with him. The other one. The English one."

Alfred perked up, smile spreading across his face. "Arthur? Yeah, he's with me. Or, I'm with him. He's a kick ass secret agent and he's gonna fix everything. Have you seen him?"

"Yes. So have the others. They fought. He lost." Eduard reported, stone-faced. Lili made a sad noise and offered what he guessed was conformation of her own.

"They captured him? Shit!" Alfred ran his fingers through his sweaty, dusty hair. "You two stay here. I'm gonna go get him."

"But-" Eduard immediately protested,

"No. It's- I'll figure something out. Just tell me where they took him."

"That way." Eduard gestured at a door on the other side of the room. "But you can't-"

Alfred was already storming towards the door that'd been indicated. Eduard and Lili rushed after him, trying to bar his way.

"Look. I'll be fine. I've just- I've got to get Arthur. He needs help. I need to help him." Alfred didn't exactly have a plan. He just- He couldn't see Arthur get hurt. Not if he could help. Not even if that help was just providing a distraction.

"There's no time!" Eduard pleaded, barring the door while Lili tugged futilely on Alfred's shirt.

"I know there's no time. That's why I've got to go! Now!" He grunted, trying to pry Eduard off.

"You- You don't understand. The missiles!"

"I know all about the missiles, dude. I know Tino wants to fire them off like firecrackers on the Fourth of July, but I promise you that isn't gonna happen. And just as soon as we rescue Arthur we're gonna take care of that, but for now we need to-"

"You don't understand!" the man shouted, accent thick and ladened with hysteria. "The launch sequence has already begun!"

Alfred froze, and then turned to look once more at the wall full of numbers that were counting slowly, but unceasingly, down to nothing.

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

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><p><strong>Continue?<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**Warnings: Slash, AU, swearing, sub-par writing, wonky plots, appallingly slow updates, and Hitler jokes.**

**IMPORTANT: This chapter contains mentions of torture. I don't consider it to be graphic or intense in nature, but, if this is a trigger for you, please, be prepared. Better safe than sorry.**

**I don't know what I'm doing. I also don't know how missile silos work.**

**Unbeta'd.**

* * *

><p>[Chapter 18]<p>

* * *

><p>Those weren't clocks.<p>

It was about the only thing that Alfred's mind was able to process.

Those weren't clocks. Those weren't clocks. Oh God, those weren't clocks.

Well, they were if you counted countdown clocks as clocks. However, Alfred was more concerned with somehow stopping the oncoming shitstorm than arguing semantics. Unfortunately, his efforts amounted to little more than fruitlessly banging at a keyboard with increasing amounts of force. Lily flitted about behind him, unsure as to whether she should try and help him or to persuade him his task was futile.

Eduard had curled up on the floor by a desk chair and was obviously waiting for whatever end would come find him first, be it Tino or nuclear holocaust. He was watching Alfred and Lily at the terminal with an air of someone watching something happen from very far away. It was probably shock.

"I told you." said Eduard listlessly. "We can't stop it. They've locked in the launch sequence and we don't have the codes."

"Well, somebody has to have the codes." Alfred retorted, becoming even more desperate. He was getting nowhere with this. Maybe if he took the paneling of the console and went in that way?

"Tino." whispered Lily.

"Tino." Eduard echoed. "Tino has the codes. He shot a man for them. We couldn't upload our program without them."

"Program?" Alfred looked up from the console for the first time. "Program? What program?"

"A- A complex targeting algorithm." Eduard struggled with the words. "It's what he kidnapped us for. The army had a prototype that could handle a simultaneous launch of this magnitude, but Tino couldn't steal it. So we made one. Jury-rigged. Not perfect. He was angry."

"Eduard." Alfred knelt in front of the man, trying to coax him out of his panic. "Please, I need you to focus. You made this?"

Eduard looked past him, at the wall of little red numbers, and nodded, eyes full of pain.

"Yes." he spat. "Yes, we made that. Tino threatened and we made him this madness like good little dogs." He looked more focused now, less scared and more angry. Alfred saw a chance and grasped at it.

"The prototype the army wanted, it had the access codes?"

"It was supposed to be able to interface with multiple missile platforms, I think. It should've been granted access. Why does this-"

"The replacement you made Tino, you said there were flaws?"

"We didn't have enough time to-"

"Good." he interrupted. "Could you exploit those flaws to terminate the program without any of those missiles launching?"

"I don't- Yes?" It was more a question than an answer. Lily looked back and forth between the two of them, looking lost.

"Could you do it?" Alfred pressed, grasping his arms tighter and giving him a little shake.

"What does it matter?" he cried. "I already told you, we can't do anything! We don't have the access codes!"

"Actually." Alfred corrected, pulling away for a moment before presenting the two of them with Hitler. "We do."

They stared blankly at the slapdash amalgamation of computer parts for a minute before it occurred to Alfred that an explanation was probably in order.

"I know it doesn't look like much, and I know this is going to sound unbelievable, but this is the prototype Tino tried to steal. Well, the prototype is inside anyway. I didn't have any means of interfacing with it, so I sort of built my own platform around it. Point is, I can access the prototype, and the prototype can access the launch sequence. All we have to do is figure out how to plug it in."

And hope that Alfred's crude attempts to get the thing working didn't fail at an inopportune moment, but now didn't seem the best time to bring up how tenuous Hitler's inner workings were.

Eduard gaped at him for a moment before exploding to his feet, nearly losing balance, and scrambling along the desk to reach the console. "Yes! Wires! I need-!" He vanished under the main controls and surfaced not a moment later with a tangle of wires, picking frantically through them for something in particular.

Alfred and Lily rushed over and met up with him just as he offered a particular cable to Alfred. "This one! Quickly!"

Alfred hastily shoved it into one of Hitler's ports and set it down, only to unplug it and jam the next cable in when a connection failed to be established. Three wires applied to several different ports and a judicious amount of careful wiggling later, Hitler hummed faintly and began to slowly sync with the launch systems.

The seconds stretched on like an eternity when measured against a countdown clock.

Finally, finally, a message appeared on screen.

ADMINISTRATIVE CODE VERIFIED

The cursor blinked a few times, and then-

ACCESS GRANTED

The system opened up before them and Alfred wanted to cry. Lily choked back a sob, her hands, which had been nervously covering her mouth, did nothing to muffle the noise. Eduard said nothing, completely focused on Hitler's screen, trying to navigate to wherever it was he needed to go. It was going to be ok. Everything was going to be-

"Damn it." Eduard pounded his fist against the console and leaned back, running his hands through his hair. "It's not going through! Why isn't it working?"

Alfred and Lily were behind him in an instant, peering at code. "What do you mean it isn't working?" he asked.

Lily said something and began to point at a specific line of code, but Eduard snarled and brushed her off. "I know! Alright? That was the first thing I thought to check. Code's fine, but it's not going through. It's just not going through!"

"Could Tino have made some sort of change to the program? Maybe added another layer of encryption?"

Eduard was already shaking his head. "No, it's more than that. It's like the missiles aren't even there. There's nothing to respond to my attempts to terminate the launch."

"That's impossible." Alfred gestured towards the rows of clocks that were still counting down. "There's clearly missiles here, unless someone's decided to commandeer military launch clocks to count down to the next episode of their favorite reality TV show."

"Don't get snide with me!" Eduard snapped. "I'm not completely disconnected from the reality of our situation. I know perfectly well-"

"Oh!" breathed Lily. The two men turned to look at her and she pointed at the console. Specifically, at a series of cables that Eduard had ripped out in his search to connect Hitler and then deemed unimportant.

"Son of a bitch disconnected the hardline." Alfred realized. "Where's the main hub? We have to-"

"It's somewhere further in. Down that hallway, I think. Some of us were taken that way, but I wasn't one of them."

"Lily?" he asked, but she was already shaking her head.

"Right. Ok. Eduard, you stay here and keep trying to send the program through. Lily," he turned to her, and she nodded to show she was following along, "you're with me. Grab whatever wires aren't plugged into anything essential. Tino might have taken the connectors, not just unplugged them. We'll need whatever we got if we want to-"

"You're going out there?" Eduard interrupted. "Are you mad? You can't go out there! Tino's out there! And his guards!"

"How many?"

Eduard blinked. "What?"

"Look." Alfred replied, behind him Lily was already yanking things out of inactive systems. "I think we can both agree that what's going on in this room is worse than anything that might be roaming these halls. Worse for everybody. So, how many guards?

Eduard paused to think, fiddling idly with his glasses as he did so. He looked more determined than he had in the entire time Alfred had known him.

"I don't know." he announced. "He had a good number when we took the base, but the only one I've seen lately is the big one. The smiling one. There were two others, the pale haired ones, but Tino sent them somewhere after they apprehended your spy friend. I don't know where they went. Or why. All the others were- ah- downsized."

"That makes four of them and four of us. Even odds."

Eduard opened his mouth, like he was going to say something about Alfred's opinion of even odds, but thought better of it. "I'm going to barricade myself in." he said instead. "When you leave. I'll keep trying until it works or they come in here and shoot me. Or we all blow up."

"That's the spirit." Alfred clapped him on the shoulder. "Lily, we good?"

She gave him a spirited look and a thumbs up, arms ladened with wires. He held the door open and together the two slipped out into the hall.

"Good luck." he said, giving one last look at Eduard, Hitler, and the wall full of clocks.

"Good luck." Eduard replied as the door slid closed.

They crept down the hallway, a shuffling screech of Eduard pushing something heavy in front of the doorway followed them. Neither of them looked back.

* * *

><p>Missile silos, as it turned out, were simultaneously bigger and smaller than they seemed. On the one hand, the hallways seemed to be so small as to be claustrophobic. On the other hand, they went on for forever. Literally forever. Every turn, ever door checked and then passed by, lead them deeper and deeper into the complex. The emptiness was starting to grate. So was the lack of success. If Lily felt as frustrated as Alfred was, she said nothing, just continued to search for the room they needed.<p>

Alfred tried not to think about what would happen if they didn't find it before their deadline.

Tried not to think about what would happen to Arthur. What possibly was happening to Arthur.

At least things couldn't get any worse.

As if on cue, a door opened in front of them and Mathias stepped out into the hall. He froze, not even daring to breath, and felt Lily do likewise. The man stretched, yawned, and turned to head down the hall in the direction they were headed. Apparently, he hadn't noticed them and Alfred couldn't believe how lucky-

"Nah!" Mathias chuckled, spinning around to face them. "I'm just fucking with you."

He closed the gap in two brisk strides and then he was standing in front of Alfred, uncomfortably violating his personal space.

"Well, hello there!" Mathias sang. "I was hoping I'd be seeing you again. Had to thank you for this, after all."

Alfred had a half second to notice the bandage plastered over Mathias' forehead before an absolutely devastating right hook collided with his face sending his glasses flying off into the hall and Alfred tumbling to the floor. He lay there, stunned, as Mathias loomed ominously. Or at least he thought Mathias was looming. His opponent's willingness to hit a guy with glasses had transformed Alfred's vision into a collage of colored blobs.

"Comfy? You're gonna be there a while. I got lots more to thank you for."

Alfred tried to scramble away, but a boot came down on his stomach and he hit the floor hard, his breath leaving him in a single gasping wheeze. Mathias kicked him again before he could draw it another breath. Alfred instinctively curled up on himself, trying to protect his vulnerable stomach.

"I know, I know. I could just shoot you." The Mathias blob patted a black blob at his side roughly the size of a semiautomatic rifle. "But, you see, I got another couple minutes until the fireworks go off and not much to do till then, so-"

He kicked Alfred in the head.

"We're just gonna play piñata until I get to see your insides. It always was my favorite party- Well, hello there, Little Miss. I thought I told you to stay in the-"

Alfred wasn't sure if it was the lack of glasses, the lack of oxygen, or the kick to the head which was responsible for what he thought happened next.

He thought Mathias drew his gun, pointing it at Lily and ordering her back to the command room.

He though Lily punched Mathias in the face and grabbed the end of his rifle.

He thought Lily kicked Mathias in the balls and twisted the gun out of his grasp as he flinched reflexively.

He thought Lily performed a dainty pirouette to build up momentum before slamming Mathias' gun into his already injured temple like a club.

He thought small and precious Lily dropped large and imposing Mathias with the thoughtless ease that most people display pulling their coffee cups out of the cabinet in the morning.

He thought he heard and felt Mathias hit the floor next to him, not even stirring.

This was, clearly, the head injury talking.

"Alfred?"

He blinked. There was a Lily blob above him, pushing something into his face. His glasses. He put them on. Lily came into focus, peering worriedly down at him. There was an assault rifle grasped in her hands.

"What?" he groaned. "How did-?"

Lily smiled. Alfred knew just enough German to get the gist of her response.

"Your brother? Your brother taught you how to do that?"

She nodded.

Alfred decided then and there that he never wanted to cross Lily's brother. Anyone who could teach a twelve year old look-alike to channel Batman was clearly not to be messed with.

He heaved himself up off the floor, midriff protesting the whole way. "We probably shouldn't leave him out in the open like this. What was he doing here anyway?"

He looked over at the door Mathias had walked out of. It was marked SECURITY.

Well, that looked promising.

They quickly hogtied Mathias using one of the cable spools and together dragged his bulk into the security room and dumped him in a corner after searching him for any more weapons. The room itself was little more than a glorified storage closet with a swivel chair and a bank of monitors showing grainy, not quite black and white, not quite color security footage. There was a map with clearly marked fire exits as well as the locations of important systems access posted on the wall behind smudged glass. Alfred placed his pointer finger on the image of the security room and traced his way down a series of hallways to the room they were searching for.

"Got it. Looks like we get out of here and take a left and then the- third door- on the-" Alfred trailed off. He'd turned to address Lily and in doing so also turned to face the security feed.

Arthur was on one of the screens.

So was Tino.

This wouldn't have been so bad if they both didn't happen to be on the same screen.

Arthur was strapped to a chair and Tino was circling him slowly, like sharks did in the movies. There were dark spots on Arthur's face that dribbled down his chest. The video quality was poor enough that Alfred couldn't tell if it was blood, vomit, or sweat. His head was down, hiding his eyes, but every so often he'd tilt his head to one side or the other, following Tino's circling.

He was alive. Arthur was still alive.

Alfred gravitated towards the screens, trying to get closer to the image of Arthur.

Lily put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head when he turned to look.

You don't want to watch this, her face said.

"I have to. Even if- I have to."

She gave a gentle tug away and shook her cables.

"But-"

A finger abruptly shot into his face, it darted away towards the image of Arthur then arced back to the cables. She shook them again for emphasis.

"You're right. He would- He would want me to finish the mission."

They left Mathias and the monitors, Lily leading the way this time. Alfred floated along almost listlessly behind her. He wondered if this is how Eduard had been feeling. Disconnected. Like nothing was quite real. In hindsight, he was impressed the man had been able to pull himself together as well as he had. Alfred barely felt able to plug wires back in and reconnect systems with fumbling fingers. Lily seemed to be moving so much faster and it was embarrassing that he'd been the one to press so hard before only to fall apart now.

"I think we've got it." he announced. "But the system will need a minute to reboot before Eduard will be able to send."

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and immediately stopped as his right eye, which had long since started to swell, protested.

"If it doesn't work- Well, if it doesn't work, it was very nice having met you."

Lily nodded likewise.

"If it does work, it won't take Tino long to realize something's up. He'll come looking for us. We have to do something before we lose the element of surprise. I don't like the idea of being in a fair fight with someone who's clearly lost his mind."

He breathed out through his nose, trying to pull himself together long enough to construct some sort of plan. Even a basic outline would do.

"We need to head back to security, see if we can figure out where Tino is. Maybe then we can, I don't know, surround him or something? We should also make sure Mathias hasn't gone anywhere. Shit, if he wakes up-"

Lily interrupted him by taking a take no prisoners stance and hefting the rifle in a fashion that made it clear she knew what she was doing. She leveled a look at Alfred that suggested he was a colossal idiot for worrying about such things.

"Right, if he wakes up, you've got it."

A thought occurred to him.

"So, if you had awesome kung fu skills, or whatever, why didn't you fight back until now?"

She started into an explanation in German before breaking it off and rolling up one of the sleeves of her dress. There were bruises on her forearms. Now that Alfred was looking, her nails also seemed jagged and broken.

Defensive wounds.

"They outnumbered you." he guessed. "They were also probably armed, and you weren't."

He could picture it. The first few guards going down like pins before a bowling ball, not suspecting someone so small to put up such a fight, before man- and firepower finally forced Lily to submit.

Another thought occurred to him.

"Does that brother of yours know you're gone?"

Lily _grinned_.

"Ok. That's- Well- I think I'll stop asking questions now. Come on, let's see if we can't get the drop on Tino."

* * *

><p>The security room was still there when they got back and not a smudge of radioactive ash, so Eduard had managed to at least delay the launch, if not stop it completely. Mathias was also there, exactly where they left him.<p>

Alfred checked the cables keeping him bound and Lily kept her rifle trained on him, just in case.

The map didn't magically reveal where Tino was, there was no bright red dot indicating 'maniacs here.' A search of the rest of the room only reveal a scattering of papers, some outdated magazines, and a grayish box on the wall that seemed to be some sort of intercom. There was a mic sticking out of the monitor controls, which Alfred guessed was part of the same system.

Alfred knew he'd have to look at the screens, but he'd been putting it off. He was afraid of what he'd see if he looked. He looked anyway.

Tino had stopped circling. He was sitting on a desk he'd pulled from somewhere and chatting in an almost bored fashion with Arthur, who'd crumpled in on himself a little bit more since Alfred had last seen him. He didn't look broken though. Not yet.

Alfred grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wanting to look away, but knowing he wouldn't be able to. He'd left Arthur before. He wouldn't do it again.

There was a number four taped under the screen. There was also a little symbol in the corner which indicated the monitor had been muted. Alfred swallowed, mouth suddenly spitless, and pressed a button on the console.

Tino's voice floated into the room, as grainy as the footage it accompanied.

"-before. I wonder who will ally with who when WWIII starts up?" Tino mused.

"What makes you think this is going to be the start of WWIII?" Arthur gasped.

Tino just laughed.

"Arthur, please. You should know better. Americans won't let an attack of this magnitude be anything _but_ the start of the next World War. Their tendency to take immediate and aggressive action will ensure that everything will go exactly as I have planned."

He leaned back and waved his hand in front of him, as if gesturing to a sprawling landscape only he could see.

"Picture it. Cities reduced to rubble. Millions reduced to ash. Radioactive fallout spreading poison through the atmosphere. You have to imagine the survivors will be pretty upset about that. So, naturally, they'll go looking for who's responsible for such an-" he paused, rolling words around in his head before selecting the right one, "atrocity."

He giggle, as if worldwide devastation was a funny cat video, nothing but an amusing diversion. "I've planted a nice little treasure trail for them, and guess who's at the end of it?"

Arthur said nothing, but Tino reached across the gap between him and gently tapped Arthur on the nose.

"That's right." he cooed. "YOU."

"Such a shame, really, that a loyal member of the British government would sink to such depths. He was always such a hardworking and dependable member of the workplace. It will come as shock to everyone who knows you that you would do such a thing. But, you know, history is full of outliers. Sometimes ordinary, unremarkable people like yourself just snap."

He paused.

"Of course, in no way does that excuse you for what you've done."

A smile spread across Tino's face. Or, at least, he bared his teeth. His eyes were too devoid of emotion to be called a smile.

"You're going to be the next Hitler, and everyone will hate you forever and ever. Well, everyone left."

"Tino." Arthur tried. "You don't have to do this. Blame me. Blame me for what happened to Ber-"

Tino darted forward and grabbed Arthur's arm. There was a dull crack from the speakers and Arthur jerked suddenly. Alfred made a soft sound and covered his mouth to keep his stomach from climbing up his throat.

"Don't say his name!" he pulled a gun from somewhere, the angle was wrong to see exactly where, and jammed it under Arthur's chin. "You don't get to say his name!"

Whatever tenuous grasp Tino had on reality had obviously frayed to a breaking point. Alfred took action.

"Attention. Your attention please." he spoke into the mic, voice calm, collected, and completely opposite of how he was actually feeling.

"There's nothing wrong with your intercom." Alfred's voice boomed through the base. "Do not attempt to adjust your speakers. We are controlling this transmission. We control the horizontal. We control the vertical. We control everything you see and... Well, actually, we just control what you hear. Put the gun down and step away from Arthur."

* * *

><p>[End Chapter]<p>

* * *

><p><strong>I like to think that Switzerland knew he couldn't always be there to keep Liechtenstein safe and so taught her how to break people in his stead.<strong>

**Continue?**


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